


Just One Hit (of You)

by hanville



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: "I Absolutely Despise You But If You Get Beaten Up Again Come Over So I Can Treat Your Wounds", Alternate Universe - High School, Blood and Injury, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Han Jisung | Han is Struggling, M/M, Minor Side Relationships, More Fluff Than You'd Think, Nerd!Jisung, Parties, Rich Boys, School Library as The Dating Spot, but he just wants Attention, rebel!minho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 91,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanville/pseuds/hanville
Summary: To Jisung, Minho is the embodiment of all the sins he has no courage to commit.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 15
Kudos: 82





	1. Seeing Red, Not Thinking Straight

**Author's Note:**

> i'll have an Essay written for the ending notes so i'm just leaving you guys with this [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4jYuTLhOvZaLit43zt4q2m?si=u7UGdVsHTSCQ5kUqU1pPdQ) because i'm obsessed with making them and i think these songs pretty much sum up this fic and fit the mood hehe :3  
> i hope you enjoy <3

Minho has had enough.

Everyone keeps bugging him, not letting him breathe for at least a second. That’s why, when a girl, whose name Minho doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know, has stopped him in the hallway to flutter her eyelashes at him and smile like there was no tomorrow, Minho has rolled his eyes and walked away.

He’s always been trying to be a nice person, for real.

But when you’re trying to get into people’s heads that you don’t feel like talking, not to mention dating and flirting, and everyone keeps sticking to you like glue anyways, you ought to snap one moment. Even patience has its boundaries. 

And Minho’s boundaries are pretty weak. 

Not looking back, Minho strolls through the hallway to the library on the top floor of the school. No one will look for him there. And probably no one is there, either. Both these reasons are enough for Minho to pick up the pace. He really needs a moment of silence.

He’d rather skip school now, but the principal has already sent out a warning to his parents, and if he misses even one class this week, he’ll be assigned extracurriculars. It’s not like Minho cares about it that much but he can’t stand the look on his brother’s face every time his parents bring up that Minho’s skipped class once again. 

“Why do you always do that, Minnie? I thought you liked learning things,” his brother says, the same sentence slipping past his lips every time, already engraved in Minho’s mind, dripping with guilt. 

He’s always right. Minho likes _learning_ things but not studying at school where all people care about are grades and perfect attendance. It’s never been an issue to him—to learn, and memorize things, and to do well—but the sheer look of annoyance on his parents’ faces is much better than having grades above average.

But his brother doesn’t need to know about that, about Minho acting up against their parents, so Minho never replies, remaining silent until the very end of the _family_ dinners. 

Pushing the library door open, he walks inside and nods to the librarian behind the desk. The older man doesn’t even look up from his book. Minho shrugs and heads to the farthest corner of the spacious room. 

Pouffes and tables are scattered basically everywhere where there’s space in between the book-filled shelves. Students often do their homework and read here, since it’s quiet and cozy, but this time the library is empty as Minho passes between the shelves. Except for the boy standing in the same corner Minho has hoped to occupy by himself, who jumps up, startled, as soon as Minho comes into his vision. 

“Jeez,” he gasps, hand on one hip. “You scared me.”

Minho sighs, assuming he won’t have any peace and quiet he needs so badly with someone else right next to him. He walks past the blond stranger and sits on one of the empty chairs, figuring the boy might just as well leave if Minho’s obnoxious enough. 

But the stranger doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck about Minho. After scanning the shelves he’s been looking through since Minho came around, he finally grabs one of the books and sits by the other table. Minho watches him for a moment, the way his lips curl up or nose scrunches while he’s reading, so lost in his own little world. 

It’s boring. And Minho should’ve expected just that. 

He grabs the pen lying on the table—that someone must’ve left behind—and spins, twirling it between his fingers. To be fair, the library is just like he’s needed it to be—basically empty and quiet, save for the sound of pages turning by the other table. 

Minho wanders to the stranger with his bored gaze, taking a good look at him. The blond distracts him when he rolls eyes, nose buried in his book; his expressions are pretty amusing. Minho’s fingers still. Falling from his hands, the pen hits the floor with force. It’s only then that the other boy looks up from the book and narrows his eyes.

“Are you done?” he mutters, tone disregarding. When Minho doesn’t reply, he shakes his head and focuses back on his reading. 

Minho can’t help but keep his stare on the stranger, amused and intrigued by nothing in particular. He can see the dyed a nice shade of blonde hair split in two to expose his clear forehead. His warm, brown eyes glistening in the late afternoon sun; the beige sweater, with long sleeves reaching past his hands, so long that only his fingers (with a bunch of mismatched rings) are sticking out. But he doesn’t seem to mind—he keeps pulling the sleeves even further onto his hands while reading.

Minho doesn’t even realize he’s tapping his fingers on the table top, propping his head with his other hand, until the blonde-haired boy looks up from the book again, eyes dangerously narrowed and speaks up in an irritated voice.

“Can you stop?” 

Minho raises his eyebrows, a smug smile spreading across his face out of habit. He’s allowed to have a little fun, right? There’s still some time until his chem class, so he might as well use it to annoy the stranger.

“Why would I, darling?”

The boy rolls his eyes like he’s done a million times today and stubbornly pretends to dive right back into reading; watching his vain efforts, Minho’s smile grows wider. He can see him stamp his foot in frustration and run his fingers through the dyed hair. When Minho looks up, their eyes meet and the stranger’s mouth falls open. 

Minho really wants to get to know his name. 

His gaze draws over the boy’s face; his squinted eyes, furrowed brows, lips pressed into a tight line. Minho might be acting childish but he damn right does like to rile cute boys up. Maybe their staring contest would last longer, maybe one of them would finally speak but the bell rings through the library and the stranger curses under his breath, hurriedly picks up his bag to sling it over his shoulder and sends Minho a fleeting look over his shoulders, walking away. 

He must’ve not realized he’s leaving behind one of his textbooks—or maybe it’s not his—trying hard to make it to class on time. Minho—not really concerned about the possibility of being late to chem class—stands from his chair, stretching arms over his head, and makes his way to the table.

On the first page, in a nice, but not perfectly neat handwriting, a name is written. It might not even be his, might not even belong to the stranger, but it rolls nicely off Minho’s tongue so he decides to take the chance. 

Han Jisung. 

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Jisung almost runs into the classroom (already late), only to be greeted with his teacher’s glare. The elder man has already finished checking the attendance but Jisung is _the perfect_ student so he lets him in. 

It’s been maybe two minutes since the bell rang; Jisung has no idea how the teacher can be so mean as not to let people wash into the classroom and take their seats but checks the attendance right away.

Jisung takes his usual seat next to Seungmin, only to not find his algebra textbook in his bag. Annoyed, he rummages through the contents of his bag but it’s nowhere to be seen. Great. Not only has Jisung been late, now he doesn’t even have the textbook he needs.

With a groan, Jisung leans back on his chair. 

“What’s wrong?” asks Seungmin, sending him a confused look with his brows furrowed. 

Jisung sighs, running fingers through his hair. “I think I left my textbook in the—” he starts, but he’s cut off by the classroom door opening. Of course it’s Lee Minho who comes inside. Annoying Jisung in the library and distracting him from reading apparently isn’t enough. 

Jisung immediately rips his eyes away from the door, covering his face with his hands and hunching over the table. Seungmin chuckles, and Jisung wants to punch him in the face. Very, very hard. 

“I just—” he hears Minho’s voice, muffled by Jisung’s arms pressed to his ears.

Jisung knows—he’s sure!—that Minho’s got that classic smug grin of his, that he himself hates with burning passion. He doesn’t have to look up. Jisung just knows.

“Jisung? I think you left your textbook with me during the break.”

Shameless. Minho is many, many things but this is exactly the word that sums him up.

Jisung lifts his head, eyes wide open in disbelief and stares at Minho, who is now standing next to his desk. Yes, Jisung has been right—the indispensable shit-eating grin is right there where he’s expected it to be. 

Jisung’s first thought is that everyone will definitely think he’s spent the break with Minho (which is only partially true and only because of the inconvenience of him showing up at Jisung’s favorite spot in the library) and will fill in the missing gaps with what they need. He’s not ready for dating rumors, not ready to be associated with the douche that Lee Minho definitely is. 

He narrows his eyes, face sharpening into a vicious expression as he stares at Minho (who is still holding his textbook; weird for someone who’s here only to return it). 

Jisung’s second thought is that Minho has come all the way to Jisung’s class just to make his life a little more miserable than it already is. So he reaches out and tears the book from Minho’s hands, through gritted teeth muttering a “thanks”. The word drips with a sickening amount of distaste and Minho must realize. Contrary to what Jisung thinks about him and what Jisung wants to believe of him, Minho isn’t stupid. 

Yet, the cynic grin doesn’t falter, not even a tiny bit. If anything, it grows bigger, more assured and Jisung has never wanted to punch someone so bad until Minho has shown up, oozing with arrogance. 

Minho turns on his heel then, walking out of the classroom with one last look over his shoulder and leaving Jisung with head throbbing. He can already hear the whispers of people around him as soon as the door closes behind Minho, and with a groan of despair he falls down onto the table, hiding his face in his arms.

Lee Minho has known him for ten minutes and has already managed to destroy his social life. 

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Just after they leave the classroom, Jisung feels someone tugging on the sleeve of his sweater. He doesn’t have to turn, doesn’t even have to spare a glance to know that it’s Felix, who’s been sending him confused looks from the back of the room throughout the rest of the lesson. 

“Don’t even ask,” Jisung mutters. Both Felix and Seungmin obey, though they’re not too subtle and Jisung can see them exchanging looks while they’re walking to the canteen. 

All the way throughout the short walk from the classroom, all Jisung could hear were whispers. Not only about him—that he might’ve been able to take. 

It’s started with Minho supposedly being late for chem class after spending a break on the roof, making out with one of the girls from his class. Then, someone mentioned that Minho had brought Jisung his textbook to class, so the girl Minho’s been kissing ended up being him. And the rest… the rest Jisung doesn’t even want to know about. 

But now the entire school is convinced Jisung is Minho’s next toy—whatever the heck that means—and Jisung knows better than to speak up. If he denies everything, someone will definitely expand the rumors with other details pulled straight out of their ass and thus make up a love life that Jisung doesn’t have at all. 

“Jeez,” Hyunjin breathes, throwing his bag onto the bench. “Were you really on the roof with Lee Minho?” 

Jisung rolls his eyes, having lost all the hope of his friends sparing him the utmost embarrassment and not bringing the topic up. He ignores Hyunjin reaching out to steal cold fries from his lunchbox and lets out a tired sigh. “In the library.”

“So it’s true?” Jeongin plops down on the bench next to Hyunjin, the last piece of their puzzle. Curious smile stretching from ear to ear, his eyes are wide open and fixed on Jisung. Well, that’s new. “You were making out with Minho in the library?”

Jisung shakes his head in denial, defeated. He has no idea how it’s possible that everyone knows already and can’t really understand why the school cares so much. He knows nothing interesting happens here—maybe aside from that one time when some hot football players visited their school for some national programme—but Jisung is not interesting. And his non-existent relationship with Lee Minho isn’t either. 

Jeongin cocks his eyebrow, doubtful and lunges forward to steal food from Jisung, too. Brats. They should start bringing their own lunch; Jisung is not going to become their provider. 

“But Sohyun said someone had seen you two?” 

Jisung rolls his eyes. “I told you a million times that you shouldn’t believe in anything that Sohyun says.” 

“She also said that you’re the most handsome boy in the entire school, but if you’re so sure that she all she says is pure bullshit—”

Jeongin stops as soon as the fry thrown by Jisung meets his forehead. Felix bursts out laughing but, like a good friend that he is, reaches into his bag to hand him a tissue.

“Whore,” Jisung mutters under his breath. “I didn’t make out with—”

Huh. 

Jisung falls silent, feeling a pair of piercing eyes on him. And, despite knowing that the entire school is probably staring at him now, he looks around the cafeteria. It’s not difficult for his gaze to fall upon the reason for all his failures and disappointments. 

Lee Minho looks at him with that confident smirk that Jisung so badly wants to wipe from his face. Lee Minho looks at him and only him, eyebrows raised high, mocking him and all the fuss he’s the reason for. He’s clearly having fun. 

Of course he is, that’s been what he wanted since the very beginning.

Heartbeat picking up, Jisung sets his jaw. It takes all of his mental strength to not flash his middle finger right into Minho’s face. Maybe he would but Seungmin nudges him in the side, asking if Jisung doesn’t want some more fries because—when he hasn’t been looking—Hyunjin and Jeongin have eaten all of his. Jisung shakes his head but, even when his friends return to their usual bickering, his gaze travels back to Minho; like their eyes are magnets and it’s impossible to look away.

Minho hasn’t. His eyes are set on Jisung just like they have been a minute ago or maybe longer, before Jisung noticed. With his friends laughing by the table, Minho seems unfazed—he keeps looking at Jisung like he’s the only person in the room. 

Jisung isn’t as subtle as he thinks when he’s sneaking glances at Minho. It’s not his fault that it’s annoying when people shamelessly stare at him; of course he feels the urge to stare back. But Minho doesn’t let himself get intimidated. If anything, his grin only widens; the mischievous glint in his eyes visible even from where Jisung is sitting. 

Jisung is so, so easy to provoke.

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Jisung feels his head throbbing with all the humming and whispers throughout the next lessons, and he leaves the stuffy classroom with relief. He knows his group was the last one to have class at this time, so when he finds Minho leaning against a tree in the courtyard, he decides that this is his only chance, magically sent by fate.

He dashes over to the boy, stopping in front of him and keeping some distance between them. For safety. 

“Hey, you!” Jisung shouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

Minho moves his gaze from the phone he’s holding to Jisung, lazy and raises his eyebrows up, letting them disappear under his fringe.

“Can you tell these idiots to stop spreading around lies that I’m hanging out with you, doing god knows what?” 

Taking a step forward, Minho puts on a smug smile. What an ugly thing, Jisung thinks, to have to pretend so much it becomes the easiest thing. He isn’t stupid. No one in the world can be this overly confident. 

Jisung retreats; steps back, wondering if it’s not better to just leave it be—to forget about Minho’s existence, about the rumors, about the weird stares, praying everything will die down. 

“And now?” Minho cocks his head to the side, mocking. “Aren’t you talking to me? Hanging out with me?” 

Jisung isn’t. He approached Minho only because he wanted him to leave Jisung in peace. But his words—his tone—so assured and confident, make his blood boil. 

It’s not hard to see Jisung turning red with anger; Minho himself lets out a satisfied chuckle. Getting Jisung mad is child’s play for him. 

“You’re garbage,” Jisung mutters, mind too hazed with annoyance to come up with something better. 

He doesn’t wait a second more; rushing through the school courtyard, Jisung presses his lips together to hold back a scream. Minho is still laughing at him, the breathy sound echoing through the air, ringing in Jisung’s ears and it takes all of him to not turn and lay a punch on his nose. 

Jisung has let himself be provoked by Minho again, has let Minho manipulate him again. And now Minho can pride himself on it. He won against Jisung once more because Jisung is such an easy target. Jisung is just a victim of opportunity; a seemingly harmless boy who gets upset too easily. 

Jisung huffs, picking up the pace. He doesn’t usually call the chauffeur but he’s so annoyed and if he’s to walk all the way back home on his own, he might just do something he’ll regret. 

The older man picks him up from the school parking lot a moment later; Jisung climbs onto the backseat with a quiet greeting and before he knows, they’ve arrived at home. After thanking Youngsik for coming to get him on such short notice, Jisung practically sprints to the door.

He knows his parents aren’t home but still takes off his shoes, putting them back on the rack. Making sure he hasn’t made any mess, Jisung looks around and shrugs. From the hallway, Jisung runs up the stairs to the bathroom, where he washes his face with cold water.

His face still looks flushed when he glances in the mirror, no matter how many times Jisung tries to rub the red hue off. It might be the problem—he’s trying too hard and only getting angrier, dark rose flush magnifying. 

Jisung lets out a long sigh, drying his hands with a towel and leaves the bathroom, heading to his own room. 

Compared to the rest of the house, his bedroom doesn’t leave any major impression. But, to Jisung, this is the only place where he can really be himself, even to a small extent. A little one.

His parents haven’t agreed to hanging pictures or posters, claiming it might damage the walls, but Jisung hasn’t been too bothered by that. Despite everything, he likes his room a lot. The beige walls, the big bed, shelves filled with books from the bottom to the top, balcony doors and the giant closet; golden fairy lights, framed pictures on the desk, the sheer feeling of home. He doesn’t get to feel that a lot. 

Bone-tired, Jisung crawls into his bed, not caring about not wearing fresh clothes. He stares at the ceiling—scattered with the glowing in the dark stars—letting his thoughts drift into the unknown. He clutches one of the pillows to his chest and flutters his eyes closed. 

It’s utterly stupid that all Jisung can think about is the person who’s stepped into his life uninvited, with dirty shoes, so uncaring. Seriously, Lee Minho is the least wanted addition to all of his problems. Jisung could use Minho leaving him in peace but, as he drifts off to the land of dreams, even his barely conscious mind knows it’s not going to happen.

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Jisung and Minho have been seeing each other more often and even Minho has to admit it’s only accidental. Maybe it’s the way he knows Jisung’s face now, knows his name, knows how easy it is to make him lose his mind and it’s intriguing. Maybe he searches for him unconsciously or maybe it’s just the Universe making them run into each other because it too likes a good show. 

Passing each other in the school hallway or in the restroom, running into each other in the convenience store and then occupying the same corner in the library just because Minho has run away again to escape everyone (but Jisung, apparently). 

Then Jisung’s seen him fighting with some other guy while he’s been having a walk through the park. He hasn’t had it in himself to intervene but he’s hoped it wouldn’t end with anyone getting too hurt. He knows Minho does this—Minho fights with people for no apparent reason and comes to school with bruises and cuts not taken care of. 

Jisung finds himself looking for him in the hallways the next day but he doesn’t see Minho at school for much longer than just one day. He doesn’t care—he’s actually relieved to finally have some peace and these few days are the quietest he’s had in quite a while. 

When he’s catching up on homework during lunch break, seated in his usual spot in the library, Jisung hopes he’ll manage to finish the exercises in time before his algebra class begins. 

If his mom knew he hadn't done his homework on the same day it’s been given, she’d never let him live. 

Jisung is bound to learn everything in time, and if he only slips, he should definitely expect reprimand. Making his parents worry about his future, troubling them, is the last thing he wants. They give him everything he needs and even more than that. Right, maybe they haven’t always managed to come to his middle school performances or have missed a few parent meetings but they’re working. They’re working so that Jisung can live a good life in the future. 

Jisung wants to please them; wants to be the son they can be proud of and brag about to their friends and co-workers. Jisung just wants to be enough. 

A grunt breaks him out of his thoughts. Jisung looks up from his notebook, irritated just because, and the scowl making its way onto his face only deepens when he notices who’s standing on the other side of the table. 

“You’ve been bothering me for weeks now. Can’t you just give up?” he shoots, glaring at Minho. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re not doing anything important, so it’s not like I’m interrupting anything. Or is mindlessly staring at a wall a crucial part of your daily routine?” 

Maybe it is. 

Jisung presses his lips together into a narrow line, holding back a biting remark. It’s exactly what Minho is hoping for. He wants to provoke Jisung. He counts on Jisung to give in to him every time and respond to his taunt. And then another one, and then another.

Throughout these weeks, Jisung has learnt that, when it comes to Lee Minho, the world (and everything that comes with it, especially the mockery) is endless. It’s push and pull; Jisung just can’t pull and Minho will give up. 

He lowers his gaze back to the blank piece of paper on the table and tries to solve his algebra problems despite Minho’s piercing gaze. Minho has decided to sit down across from him to continue to torture him. Only out of the corner of his eye Jisung can see him propping his head in his hand and watching—drilling holes in Jisung’s face and making a treacherous blush of anger creep up his cheeks.

A sigh slips out of Jisung’s mouth as he once again has to correct his solution. He crosses it out with his black pen and bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. In the classroom, this problem wouldn’t be an actual _problem_ for him. However, sitting in the library, where the silence he needs so much keeps getting broken by the rhythmic tapping of _the intruder_ ’s fingers on the table top, Jisung can’t even gather his thoughts.

“You need a hand?” 

Jisung almost jumps out of his chair at Minho’s words. It’s the way he’s so smug about it that makes Jisung glare at him, makes him set the pen down on the table with unnecessary anger. “I don’t need your help now and I won’t ever need it, for fuck’s sake, so you can just go and leave me alone.”

Minho raises his hands in surrender, but somehow Jisung grows even more irritated. His lips are curled up in a small but not any less smug grin. Infuriating. He’s infuriating. Jisung wants to wipe his stupid smile off; wipe it off and make sure it never sees the daylight again.

Just the sole thought of Minho’s presence annoys him to the bone and he doesn’t know why it’s suddenly so easy for him to make Jisung so mad. 

“Aren’t you bored yet?” he asks, voice dripping with bitterness. 

Minho tilts his head to the side and crosses his arms over his chest. Only then does Jisung get a good look at him. There is a cut on his lower jaw that he hasn’t even bothered to cover with a band-aid. A little higher, just below the eye, a fading bluish bruise marks his skin like it’s painted. Jisung wonders if these are the tokens of remembrance of the _meeting_ he’s witnessed a few days earlier.

Despite everything, Minho looks unfazed; he isn’t hiding his injuries, and Jisung gets the feeling that he’s showing them off. As if he wants others to see them, look at them, ponder their origins.

Maybe that’s exactly the trophy for Minho—people’s curious eyes, attention focused only on him; having everyone wondering, thinking about him, dying to know what’s happening to this pretty face behind the closed doors. 

Jisung’s stomach flips. He shakes his head but he can’t get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth. Standing up, he gathers all his things in one swift movement. The mere thought of Minho getting high on people’s curiosity is disgusting. Sickening.

As he briskly leaves the library, Minho’s eyes are still focused on him. He follows Jisung out with his gaze until he’s completely disappeared behind the bookcases. Then Minho shakes his head with a smile and stands up to go to class.

Contrary to what Jisung thinks, Minho isn’t teasing him just because he’s at hand. It’s just that weird feeling that makes his stomach twist and turn as soon as he sees Jisung and his brain starts screaming, “Hey, you gotta piss him off. Right here and now!”.

There’s barely anything entertaining to do at school—because it’s a damn school—and, since Minho has been forced to go to this particular school, he’s had to find some additional activity. If it’s bothering Han Jisung to the point his face gets all red and eyes point daggers at him, then so be it. It’s nice. Works well when Minho needs to take his mind off things. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Minho plops down on the chair next to Momo and winks her way when she offers him a cherry flavored lollipop. His friend only rolls her eyes and says, “That’s what I thought. You’ve run out of your own stock, right?” 

He hasn’t. The drawer in his bedroom is still filled with fruit flavored lollipops like he’s just bought all of them, but Minho loves Momo too much to not prey on her candy. 

He looks around the class, bored gaze scanning the students. He finds Changbin in the back of the class, sitting by the window. Minho nods his head as a greeting, then turns back to Momo as she says, “You can hardly see it now.” 

It's only because she points her finger at his face and the fact that she is always the one truly paying attention to his wounds that Minho realizes she’s talking about what’s going on on the left side of his face.

“I know,” he replies, and Momo doesn’t even try to hide her disappointment. Minho decides it’s better to ignore her before he starts feeling bad.

He shoves the lollipop into his mouth, but the bitterness of the situation spoils the taste. His stubbornness doesn’t let him show it, so he sucks on the candy until it’s gone; gone with it is the reminder of Momo’s concerned expression. 

_Talk to them, Minho. Stand up to them but in a different way, Minho. Don’t get into trouble just to make_ their _lives miserable, Minho._

He wants things to be this easy. 

Kyungmin has been waiting for him, running into the hallway and bouncing excitedly as soon as Minho returns home. Minho immediately feels all the anger draining out of him as he ruffles his younger brother’s hair, ignoring the kids’s yelps of objection. Remembering what he’s here for, Kyungmin quickly forgets his ruined hairstyle and, grabbing Minho by the sleeve of his jacket, tries to drag him towards the living room. Maybe he’ll succeed when he grows. But now, Minho is still in the same spot, grinning from ear to ear just because he really likes annoying people. 

“Cartoon is on after the ads, are you watching with me?” Kyungmin asks. 

He’s pouting in that exaggerated way that makes him look more childish than adorable but Minho has got a soft spot for this kid. How can he not agree?

“Please!” he shouts, immediately looking around and pressing the palm of his hand to his lips. Minho frowns. “Dad told me to be quiet.” 

Their father is back. Minho clenches his jaw, already feeling the irritation bubbling in his stomach, but Kyungmin’s hold on his hand brings him back to reality. He switches his gaze to his younger brother and sends him a slight smile. 

“Let’s watch it in your room. Go run upstairs. I’ll bring us something sweet, alright?” 

The ‘no sweets before dinner’ rule to Minho ceased to exist years ago, but Kyungmin’s eyes sparkle at the mere mention of sweets at this time. He nods obediently, then runs down the spacious corridor and up the stairs. 

Minho makes his way to the kitchen and reaches for one of the top cupboards where sweets are usually kept. When Minho became mature enough to go to the store himself, he began buying what _he_ liked, not what his mother wanted him to eat. However, when it comes to Kyungmin, Minho doesn’t want to argue. Between him and his parents, he is the gray area.

And, besides, Kyungmin doesn’t care what candies he’s eating. If it’s sweet, then he’s good. 

Grabbing random packages of snacks in his hand, Minho’s thoughts are far away. He closes the cupboard with a thud and strolls through the hall. When he walks to his younger brother’s room, Minho finds him lying on the carpet staring at the TV set. Without a second thought, Minho joins in, lying down next to him.

“How was school?” Minho asks. Kyungmin turns his way with a stone cold expression, scolding him for speaking up while he’s watching _Octonauts_. 

Minho suppresses the lighthearted laugh that threatens to slip past his lips when his brother lets out an exaggerated sigh and says, “It was okay.” 

“Wow. What an exhaustive answer. It looks like you’re having a lot of cool adventures, aren’t you?” Minho mocks. His brother stares him down with his eyebrows raised, completely unamused, and takes a handful of jelly just to turn back to the TV a second later.

This kid is going to be even worse than him. 

Kyungmin mumbles under his breath every now and then, giving the impression that he is indeed reciting the entire script off the top of his head. Minho knows him too well and realizes that it’s quite possible. Himself, he feigns interest in _Octonauts_ , sighing theatrically whenever there’s an opportunity. Kyungmin smacks him in the back for it every single time yet Minho doesn’t stop; it doesn’t matter that his brother sees through his amateur act.

At one point, though, Kyungmin can't help but laugh at Minho’s remarks, and shoves a little too many strawberry marshmallows into his mouth, immediately choking. Minho pats him on the back, biting back the will to scold him for being careless. It’s not something he’d like to hear, so he doesn’t say it. 

“You have to be careful, you know?”

Minho doesn’t want to be hard on his younger brother—because he’s still a kid and what kids need growing up is support and love—but he still narrows his eyes at Kyungmin, hoping the stern gaze will somehow get to him and make him rethink being too greedy.

“You alright?” he asks, hand drawing circles over Kyungmin’s back. 

The kid nods and says, “Want to drink.” 

“I’m not your servant, Kyungie. Take care of your own business.” 

Kyungmin mumbles something under his breath; Minho isn’t sure he wants to know what exactly. But then the kid awkwardly stands up from the fluffy carpet and heads for the door. When he realizes Minho is following him, he opens his mouth wide and points at him with an accusing finger.

“You’re going anyways! And you still didn’t want to bring it for me!” 

“I’m going to the bathroom, dummy. The other way.” 

Minho’s words don’t satisfy Kyungmin—he turns on his heel and marches down the stairs with an offended expression, turning only once to see if Minho can see how pouty he is.

Minho shakes his head with a smile and goes to the bathroom. As he passes by his father's study, he hears him typing on the computer. Minho rolls his eyes. Even if his father comes back early, he still takes the work home.

Minho can’t even remember the last time he’s properly seen him. 

It’s not like he wants to. Just a single look at his father makes him upset, but Minho has to admit it’s strange that they don’t see each other much while they’re living in the same house.

Minho performs his necessities in the bathroom and washes his hands, taking a look at himself in the mirror, carefully examining the cut on his lower jaw before he has to go back to Kyungmin. He’s not so sure himself if it really is fortunate that his wounds always heal so quickly.

He runs a wet finger over the wound, a sigh escaping his lips as he feels no discomfort at the touch. Unfortunate. It’s unfortunate. 

Minho wipes his hands with a towel, then closes the bathroom door as he leaves.

He takes his time walking back—if Kyungmin finished drinking, he’d be running through the hall and Minho would definitely not miss it. He stops in his tracks when his phone vibrates in his pocket, but before he can even read the notification, he hears his own name coming from his father’s study. 

“Minho—Minho is just a kid going through a rebellion phase. It will pass, and then you’ll see… when he takes over the company and becomes so, so famous all around the world,” his father says, careless enough to speak so loudly. Minho clenches his hand on his phone and walks closer, listening. “Anyhow, dear principal, I hope it’s enough to move the team. If it’s not… Well, what do you think about new jerseys? Maybe we should renovate the field next time? Just remember—”

Minho doesn’t want to listen a second longer. He clenches his jaw so tightly it immediately hurts. He feels hot all over; he’s sure he’s flushed red in the face; maybe there’s even steam coming out of his ears? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t. It’s just the ugly feeling coling around his stomach, so quick to cloud his mind. Minho feels an overwhelming rage. It begins with the tingling in the tips of his fingers and takes over his entire body within a second. 

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his pants and briskly walks towards the stairs. All Minho wants to do is to burst into his father;s office, grab his goddamn perfectly ironed tie and smash his head against his beloved mahogany desk. Minho never wanted anything more than that at this very moment.

He’s already by the front door when he dears the quiet footsteps. 

“Where are you going?” 

Minho doesn’t have the strength to turn around. He can’t pull himself together; his hands are trembling, throat stinging, tight and unbearable. No matter how many times Minho tries to swallow the feeling, it remains right there; a painful reminder. 

“You said you’d watch Octonauts with me,” Kyungmin whines. “Where are you going?” 

“Sorry,” Minho mumbles. He tries to keep his tone natural but the mess—the sheer noise—in his head is unbearable. He’s not even sure if he’s not actually screaming. “I just—I have to go out for a moment.”

“Well, okay! But come back soon. It’s dark and _Blaze_ will be on soon!”

Minho nods his head, leaving the house only after making sure Kyungmin ran off to his bedroom. Not looking back, he shoves hands into his pockets and steps onto the pavement. 

He really wants to hit someone. Take it out, get rid of the anger that tickles his underbelly and makes him sick to the point he feels like throwing up. Minho takes a deep breath. Another one, and another.

He walks on without any purpose, yet hoping that someone will find him; that someone will want a payback for all the other fights and Minho will be able to take out his bitterness, at the same time reminding everyone that he is the one setting the rules.

Because Minho is setting them—writing them down, proclaiming them, having people recite them, and then sealing and flaunting them all over the place so that everyone is aware that he’s not going to get pushed around. 

Minho spits into the bushes. 

Seriously, he should’ve expected that. He should’ve guessed a long time ago that he wouldn’t be able to go to such a _prestigious_ school if it wasn’t for bribes.

His father thought it through so, so, so well. What a pity that Minho found out—unexpectedly, but he did. And now he’s going to go all in, going to do everything he can to prevent his father from creating an idealized future that Minho doesn’t want to be a part of.

Minho knows his father too well; knows his father is trying to control him, and is trying to make it seem that their family is beautifully arranged. Immaculate. Perfect. 

But Minho isn’t perfect, and—if that’s what is expected of him—he’s not even going to try to be. 

A hooded figure emerges from around the corner as Minho approaches the park. He straightens up and strains his eyes, trying to see who it is hiding in the shadows.

What a surprise. Minho raises his eyebrows as the light of a nearby streetlight casts a golden hue, illuminating the face of the boy he hasn’t really expected to see. 

When their eyes meet, Han Jisung stops in his tracks and lets out a long sigh. The corners of Minho’s lips quirk up, involuntary. There’s something about him. _Something_. 

“You startled me,” Jisung says, clearly annoyed.

He fixes the strap of the canvas bag over his shoulder and shoves his hands back into the pockets of his jacket. Unsure gaze sweeping over Minho’s face, his pupils widen. He must notice the sheer anger radiating off him.

Minho lifts his hand to run fingers through his hair, trying his best to make his exasperation die down. His brows furrow when Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and takes a step back. 

“Why are you moving away?” 

Jisung snaps out of it, pulling an impassive expression. Can Minho blame him for flinching, really? He blinks away the haze, focusing his stare on Minho—Jisung is not getting intimidated by him, not a chance—but still away from his piercing eyes.

“I’ve seen what these hands can do and I’m not looking for trouble,” he mutters, one hand clutching the strap of his bag like he’s ready to run any second. 

“You’re actually one of the people I wouldn’t hurt.”

And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Jisung raises his eyebrows in bewilderment, mumbling something under his breath. When Minho doesn’t say anything more, he sighs, awkwardly trying to walk past him. 

Minho only lets Jisung take a few steps before speaking again, voice loud and clear. “Going home? I’ll walk you.” 

Jisung thinks of simply ignoring him, moving on and living happily, miles away from Lee Minho and the sack of trouble he carries with him everywhere he goes. But his legs stop involuntarily, and a moment later Minho’s step is already aligned with his. 

“Don’t look at me like this. I just don’t have anything better to do,” Minho says, as if he can see the confused side-eye glance Jisung sends him.

Jisung shrugs. All he prays is that no one will see them together. What’s going on at school—the hellish armageddon—is quite enough.

“Besides, we wouldn’t want anyone to beat up your pretty face, would we?” 

Jisung sucks in a breath but doesn’t answer. A wry remark is on the tip of his tongue, but that’s exactly what Minho expects when he opens his mouth to let another stupid comment out. He expects involvement.

That is why Jisung only presses his lips together into a thin line and refrains from tripping Minho up with all the strength left in his body. Or pushing him out in front of a passing car. So many lovely possibilities.

“Take the right,” he mumbles as they reach the crosswalk.

Maybe he doesn’t even have to do anything to kill him, Jisung thinks. Minho apparently doesn’t care that despite the empty road, a car may suddenly dash and run him over—without hesitation, Minho rushes to the other side of the street. Jisung can only huff in irritation and follow him straight to the park.

It’s silent. Not completely awkward or uncomfortable, but Jisung can’t get rid of the sharp feeling right in the pit of his stomach that awakens only one thought—run. With ten exclamation marks and in big, red letters; bold, and italics, and underlined.

But Jisung isn’t going to run. Despite everything—the circumstances, the company, the time of the day—Jisung feels safe. 

If it isn’t for Minho, he’d probably already be on the call with one of his friends to have at least a little distraction to keep him sane while he’s getting home at night.

Home. 

A thought so plain and simple hits Jisung when they’re passing one of the statues in the park. Just two more turns and they’ll arrive in the neighbourhood. 

Jisung might’ve cooled down but he doesn’t want to go back. Empty walls and the echo of his own footsteps are becoming more and more unbearable after yet another week of being alone. 

Jisung stops in his tracks, sighing before he strolls to a nearby bench. It’s too cold and he’s not ready to freeze his ass off, so Jisung climbs onto the backrest, elbows digging into his thighs; he feels like a hooligan. Minho shoots him a confused look but follows him nonetheless. 

“I don’t feel like going back home yet,” Jisung mumbles after a moment of silence.

The bag digs into his shoulder, so he puts it down on the bench. His gaze scans over the surroundings and Jisung pretends that the bushes opposite are of great interest to him. Anything. Anything just to not have to look at Minho.

To his surprise, though, Minho tells him, “Honestly? Me neither. I’d like to go and… unload, but… sitting here doesn’t seem so bad.”

Jisung has no bloody idea what to say. 

The city roars from every corner even at night. When Jisung looks up, he can see someone walking their dog in the distance and someone sitting on a bench not too far from where he and Minho are. Everything is _teeming_ with life, but Jisung only feels grim.

It’s awkward to sit in silence right next to a stranger, whose hands are still trembling and face is twisted in an annoyed grimace. Yet, if Jisung is to choose between this and the street bustling through the dark way home, Jisung much prefers to sit in the cold with Minho.

Minho breaks the silence once again as the wind picks up and ruffles his hair, making it blow in a million different directions. He huffs in irritation as he tries to contain the mess that’s forming on his head. Jisung stares at him, biting back the sudden fit of laughter threatening to spill past his lips, into the crisp air, where Minho can hear. He doesn’t know, really—what if he starts laughing out loud and Minho will push him off the bench and murder him on the spot? 

But Minho only glares at him—though it doesn’t faze Jisung much—and then says, “I’ll go to the store to get us something warm. Don’t run away, alright?”

Jisung shrugs, but as Minho walks away, he knows that if he wasn’t the one to mention it himself, running away from the park wouldn’t even cross Jisung’s mind.

He trembles as a gust of wind tickles his face, almost blowing the hood off his head. Jisung just hopes Minho will hurry up. His presence won’t help Jisung stop from feeling cold at all, but the warmth of the other body on a chilly night is much more pleasant than its absence.

Jisung reaches out for his bag to take out a packet of sour gummy bears. He can’t resist, though, and, even while munching on the candy, he lets his gaze wander to where Minho disappeared a moment ago.

When Jisung finally notices the now familiar silhouette illuminated by the orangeish lantern light approaching, he looks away like he’s burnt. He wants to hide his face in his hands in embarrassment. It’s no wonder he’s been staring. He doesn’t have to act like a kid caught stealing candy. 

Jisung’s pretending to be busy picking the _right_ gummy bear from the packet as Minho jumps onto the bench, taking the same spot as before. But closer. This time, Minho sits closer. One of his knees gently touches Jisung’s, light as a feather, barely there. And he doesn’t seem to care about that. Minho acts like he doesn’t even notice.

Jisung can only raise his eyebrows when Minho lifts up a bottle to show it off. “You were supposed to buy something warm,” he bites.

“Wine warms you up.” 

It doesn’t, Jisung wants to say, it makes you feel warm but it doesn’t warm you up. Minho won’t care about it anyways, so Jisung remains silent. 

Minho seems pretty experienced when he takes a lighter out of his pocket and lights it up, heating the bottleneck to get rid of the cork. Jisung doesn’t know if he should be impressed or maybe wonder what prompted Minho to know tricks like this. 

Jisung holds up a packet of gummies at him, just to be nice. Minho’s lips curl up in a slight smile (Jisung isn’t sure if he can actually call it a smile) and he takes a few, putting them all in his mouth right away. Minho puts the wine bottle to his lips and takes a swig, breathing out as soon as he gulps it down. 

“Want some?” he asks, polite. Jisung only shakes his head. The only thing he wants to drink is a strong coffee, definitely not cheap wine from a convenience store. Minho snorts and adds, “Right. I forgot you’re the good boy.” 

“Do you seriously think I’ve never had a sip of alcohol in my life?” Jisung cocks an eyebrow, sneering. “I don’t want your wine ‘cause it looks disgusting and probably tastes like piss. And, to be honest, it’s too cheap for me to chug it down without worrying if I won’t end up in the hospital.” 

Minho opens his mouth to reply, probably with something equally biting, but Jisung holds up his hand to stop him. 

“Besides, it’s not even real wine since it’s got an expiration date. And if you bought it at the corner store, it probably expired a month ago, if not more.” 

When Jisung turns to give him a smug look, Minho is already staring at him, as if he’s been watching Jisung like this for quite a while. He seems to be drilling a hole in his face, mesmerizing with his dark eyes, but Jisung refuses to give in. Jisung is not going to give in. A sly smile tugs on the corners of Minho’s lips and Jisung finds that he doesn’t mind it that much. It’s just a lot better than the scowl he was wearing before. And Jisung—

Jisung doesn’t know what more to say.

Silence falls over them but it’s like a blanket. Soft, even. Neither of them wants to break it. 

From all sides they can still hear the buzz of the city, but with Minho sitting next to Jisung in the early autumn night, it feels as if they’re surrounded by an invisible bubble separating them from the rest of the world.

Snobbish Jisung is quite endearing; makes a whole new impression on Minho, as if they’re getting to know each other for the first time. Therefore, he doesn’t mind being in his company. It seems as if there are more Jisungs, more personalities that come together to make something strangely beautiful. Minho can’t admit it to himself then, but, somehow, he really wants to know what the final combination is like.

Therefore, just after midnight, when the sky is shining brightest, Minho walks Jisung home.

He throws the half-empty wine bottle in the garbage can when Jisung isn’t looking, silently admitting Jisung is right about the taste. (Because, of course, Minho would never say it aloud.) They walk through the park, never passing a living soul. Apparently even for night owls, hanging out in the park isn’t peak fun.

As the bushes rustle dangerously, Jisung unconsciously takes a step to the right and moves closer to Minho, probably not even realizing himself what he’s doing. He’s just seeking safety and warmth and if it’s Lee Minho who can give him just that then so be it. 

The park gate reveals a road full of cars in front of them. Jisung wonders where people are going at this hour; if it’s not for wanting to avoid loneliness, Jisung would probably be lying sprawled across the couch, mindlessly watching reruns of some TV show. 

They don’t really speak to each other. Jisung is so deep in thought, even, that Minho has to grab his arm to save him from bumping into the streetlight. He then raises his eyebrows with a slight curl of his lips and mutters, “Be careful, eh?” and then lets go of his jacket sleeve and resumes walking. Jisung stares at his back for a moment, letting the wind tousle through his hair. But then Minho shoots him a confused look over his shoulder so Jisung quickens his pace to catch up with him.

After crossing the road, they turn right. It doesn’t take much—just a few meters more—and Jisung can already see the roof of his house in the distance. He sighs and it doesn’t escape Minho at all. Of course—on top of everything, Minho is also attentive.

But Jisung looks away, embarrassment too unbearable, staining his cheeks with a red hue, as he realizes that he doesn’t want to go back home yet. Too late now, when he’s basically on his own doorstep. 

“You’re pretty weird, Han Jisung,” Minho mumbles; maybe more to himself, but Jisung still hears him well. Eyeing him with something that can’t be a strong glare, Jisung watches as Minho lightly shakes his head

“Yeah, because you are the king of normalcy.” 

Minho laughs aloud at his comment, as if it were a statement worthy of such a reaction. Jisung doesn't know whether to be offended or honored, but before he can make up his mind, he looks up and notices that they have already approached his house.

Empty, with lights out, to Jisung it seems scary, even. But he’s used to it. Already used to it. 

He stops at the gate, giving Minho a signal that they’ve arrived. He can see Minho sweeping his gaze over Jisung’s house, and the exact moment his face eases into _something_ when his eyes fall back on Jisung and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Golden hues of the streetlights reflect in his eyes, and Jisung feels weird for noticing. 

“Thanks for walking me.”

Minho shrugs. “Just don’t walk around alone at night.”

Jisung hears no concern in his voice. Minho’s words echo a little differently in his head; like a warning. ‘Don’t walk alone at night or I’ll kick your ass next time.’

Minho said he wouldn’t hit him, but Jisung can never be sure. What if Minho just wants to gain his trust and then attack him somewhere in the dark corners of the city and send him to the ER? Jisung is not going to take the risk. 

“Just to be clear,” he says, then, “We’re not—we’re not friends.” 

Jisung feels stupid after saying these words aloud. It’s not like Minho walking him home is anything special; anything that can potentially prompt a friendship between them. Minho watches him with a strange glint in his eyes; it only makes Jisung want the ground to swallow him whole even more.

So he turns, quickly approaches the gate, and unlocks the lock with the code. Warmth spreads on his ears, only adding to his embarrassment. Why does he always say stupid shit like this? He should really learn how to keep his mouth shut. 

Jisung turns back once more as he reaches the front door and the keys almost fall out of his hand as his gaze meets Minho’s.

Minho is walking backwards down the road, still staring at Jisung with that annoying, mischievous smile painted on his face. He takes a few more steps, then runs his fingers through his hair and turns to disappear around the corner. 

Jisung takes a deep breath and turns around to face the front door to unlock them with hands trembling in annoyance. He switches the lights on in the hall, taking off his jacket and shoes, and strides to his room, trying his best to ignore the disheartening silence that seems to echo through the walls, following his every step. 

He locks the door of his room, even though his parents are away, and they never come in when they’re home anyway.

Despite the closed blinds, moonlight seeps inside. It’s comforting in a way—he’s not alone.

Jisung sighs, then climbs onto the bed without bothering to take off his clothes. Hugging one of the pillows to his chest, he squeezes his eyes tightly shut, silently pleading for a quick sleep. He can’t bring himself to it, however, despite the sudden wave of tiredness crashing against him, and as the minutes go by, Jisung grows more and more impatient.

It’s late and he’s to go to school in a few hours. His body should accept it, adapt and let him rest for a few moments. His body should stop sabotaging itself.

A deep sigh slips past his pursed lips. Jisung turns on his back to focus on the ceiling, on the perfectly put white paint, on the long time ago faded neon stars that used to keep him company by glowing in the dark. He lifts his hand up, drawing patterns with his finger. A smile creeps up to his face, even though he’s exhausted and there aren’t many reasons to smile now; Jisung absolutely adores the night sky. Even if it’s just old stars glued to his ceiling, it’s still the same feeling. And, staring at the constellations arranged years and years ago, he takes deep breaths one by one, trying to stabilize his chaotic heartbeat.

After a long moment, Jisung’s hand begins to ache from being lifted up, so he lets it fall onto the bed, but still keeps his eyes on the faded stars. They are a memory of his only rebellion, a bitter reminder of the old days when his parents have yet to begin tying him down.

Jisung thinks he should buy new stars; to glow and keep him company during lonely nights that, he supposes, might be happening more often now that he’s old enough to be left in the house alone. 

This is exactly what Jisung is like—getting attached too easily, clinging to the good memories for some sense of support. He’s not unhappy—he loves his parents and is eternally grateful for everything they continue to do for him. With a roof over his head, incredible friends and more privilege than he deserves, Jisung is still a little lonely.

He can’t really lie to himself, can he? His mind knows him best and it’s not like he can hide his own thoughts from himself. It’s just impossible. 

Jisung needs something fresh, something interesting, something that can fill him up with a sickening amount of support. He’s ashamed of being this greedy. His throat closes and Jisung needs to gulp down the water bottle he always keeps on the bedside table for the ugly lump to go away. 

Jisung just needs to be cared for. Is it such a bad thing? 

When he gets on the bus the next day (though he rarely does ride the bus to school) and sits by the window with his obnoxious red headphones on, he feels like someone’s watching him. This feeling doesn’t disappear even when he gets off the stop by the school and as he makes his way through the courtyard. Like a madman, he turns several times, but all he sees is an empty pavement. No one is following him, but the impression of being watched hangs over him, dangerous and makes him even more anxious.

Jisung buys coffee from a vending machine right next to the maths classroom in the school’s basement, even though he has his own thermos in his bag. With his hip, he pushes the classroom door open and takes his usual seat without paying much attention to the people already sitting inside.

Hot coffee burns his mouth, but Jisung can’t bring himself to care; he takes his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie to open the group chat and ask when his friends will be at school. As he sends a message, the classroom door opens and Jeongin, with the sweatshirt hood over his head, storms inside.

Jisung cocks an eyebrow as Jeongin plops on the chair in front of him and turns around, sending Jisung a tired look. 

“Don’t say anything,” he mumbles; Jisung raises his hands in surrender. 

Jeongin looks like he hasn’t slept for three days and was attacked by a pack of coyotes on the way to school. And Jisung is a good friend so he slides his own cup of coffee across the table instead of asking and waves a dismissive hand when Jeongin looks up at him, thankful. 

When Felix enters the classroom a moment later, looking just as dead as Jeongin, Jisung connects the dots. “Have you two been playing PUBG all night long again?”

“Nope. Only till five. Then we played the League ‘cause Eric kept whining that he’s only losing.” Felix rolls his eyes but there’s no bite to it. He eyes Jisung, brows furrowed, and adds, “You don’t look like you’ve slept through the night, either.” 

“That’s why I’m not judging,” Jisung shrugs, lips curling up a little.

Two hours of sleep is still much more than what he expected. In the morning—or at dawn, really—when he couldn’t fall asleep again, Jisung took a blanket from his room and ate cereal by the kitchen island, watching cute animal videos on YouTube. What an amazing beginning of the day. 

Seungmin and Hyunjin join them soon. Seungmin sits on his seat next to Jisung and smacks his thigh as a greeting. Hyunjin, who usually sits further to the side, moves his chair closer and props his chin on his hands, elbows digging into Seungmin’s table. 

“Who the fuck thought maths as the first period is a good idea?” 

Jisung can’t disagree. He nods, reaching out to take his paper cup from Jeongin. Seeing it’s empty, he lets out a sigh but Jeongin only points at Felix with his faux innocent smile. It’s alright. He gets the pass because Jisung loves him. 

“I’m pretty sure there’ll be a chem quiz today. I haven’t studied at all for the past weeks and—I swear!—I don’t know shit,” Hyunjin begins complaining. 

Jeongin’s eyes widen at his words. He rubs his hand over his face, like he’s trying to make his brain work quicker and then exclaims, “No way!” 

When Seungmin scolds Jeongin for getting spit all over his books, Jisung bites back the smile. He’s doodling on the cover of his notebook and listening to his friends’ conversation with one ear, because he’s the only one of them to sign up for biology. 

The teacher was absent for the first few weeks of the school year and today is when the first lesson is supposed to take place. Jisung knows it’s an extracurricular—everyone could sign up so the level might be different for everyone; yet he can’t shake off the slight anxiety coiling around his stomach. What if he’s the weak link? 

After two hours of maths and one pretty relaxing hour of literature, Jisung bids goodbyes to his friends and strolls through the hallways to get to the third floor. He eyes every door he’s passing and, after finally finding the right room, Jisung steps into the classroom and looks around. 

When his eyes meet the girl’s sitting by the window, Jisung feels an unfounded rush of embarrassment and, as quickly as he can, takes the empty seat in the middle row. 

The closer to the bell, the more unknown students enter the classroom. At one point a very handsome older boy sits down next to him and sends Jisung a slight smile. Jisung panics. His eyes widen and he quickly turns towards the door with flushed cheeks and hears the pretty stranger snort a soft laugh.

Jisung tries to focus his eyes on something that isn’t the handsome older boy he doesn’t know the name of, but unfortunately Lee Minho shows up at the door and Jisung feels like his entire day is ruined. (Jisung has a flair for the dramatic.)

Minho seems surprised to see Jisung inside and stands in the doorway for a moment too long just looking at him, until the girl with black hair calls him over with a wave of her hand.

Jisung hopes Minho comes to the classroom just to see the pretty girl, just for a moment, just for a second, but the bits of hope fall apart when he sits down next to her; he doesn’t look like he’s leaving anytime soon, especially not before the break is over.

Jisung can’t resist staring. The girl leans over to Minho, whispering something into his ear; something that makes both of them giggle. And Jisung—Jisung feels stupid for no reason. 

He crosses arms over his chest, turning to face the window and taking a deep, deep breath as he tries to get rid of the bubbling irritation. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

It gets worse when he hears his name whispered in the back of the room. Jisung thinks it might just be a coincidence; maybe someone’s talking about a different Jisung. But the thought falls apart when he hears Minho’s name, too. 

Jisung wants to stand up and rush out of the classroom; wants to turn around and tell the people spreading gossip about him to shut their damn mouths and never even think of him again; he wants to shout at Minho for making his life so complicated, but—Minho isn’t even looking his way. 

Pushing everything else aside, Jisung realizes Minho is only following the script Jisung pushed into their hands last night. They’re not friends. They’re nothing. 

His indifference to the gossip doesn’t do anything at all, because Minho might not be bothered but Jisung is. He doesn;t want people to talk about him—especially telling lies, associating him with someone like Minho, between them creating something that never existed in the first place.

Classroom door slams shut and a smiling young woman walks to her desk diverting Jisung’s thoughts to a different track. He opens the notebook he brought from his locker, but doesn’t write anything down. He listens to the teacher with one ear, letting information about her curriculum plans not even be registered in his mind. When the lesson ends, he’s one of the first people to leave the class.

Jisung turns one last time when he’s already by the stairs—not really knowing what he’s trying to look back on so bad—and only grows irritated, noticing how Minho is actually staring at him now, audacious. 

He rushes to the courtyard and then turns right to get to the football field where his friends and him agreed to meet for lunch. His friends are already waiting for him, sitting in the stands. When they notice him, Felix raises his hands to wave at him, smiling from ear to ear. Not even the sunshine personified manages to cool him down.

“Lee Minho,” Jisung hisses, slamming his bag on one of the plastic seats with an unreasonable amount of force and anger, “is the bane of this fucking world. I hope he chokes on his cheap wine. I hope he trips over his stupid fucking legs and dies.” 

Jisung ignores his friends sharing looks he can’t decipher. It’s only when Seungmin asks what Minho had done for Jisung to get this mad. 

“Nothing. That’s the point—he’s doing absolutely nothing.” 

“And that’s a bad thing?” Felix asks, unsure.

Jisung props on his elbow and raises his eyebrows, watching him with a look that can be translated into something similar to _how can you even ask a question so obvious_. Felix lifts his hands in surrender and shrugs. 

“It’s just so fucking annoying how—”

Jisung’s next words are muffled by a piece of donut that Hyunjin shoves into his mouth without a warning. He starts choking and his lovely friends—instead of actually helping him—giggle and stuff their cheeks with candy. 

“I almost died!” Jisung exclaims, a little breathy. 

Seungmin shrugs with a smug smile. “Karma.”

Maybe. Maybe it’s also karma that causes Jisung to find his parents at home when he comes back from school. As soon as Hyunjin’s driver drops him off at the gate and Jisung sees his father’s car in the driveway, he knows they’re back.

Hesitant, Jisung moves along the hallway and stops abruptly when he sees his mother going through some papers in the living room. She lowers the glasses on the slope of her nose, eyeing him. 

Jisung sends her a soft smile and asks, “When did you guys come back?” 

“A few hours ago. We were supposed to come back after the banquet but your father forgot to bring the renewed transaction papers.”

She rolls her eyes just to sign her name at the bottom of the page she’s holding a second later. Jisung watches her and feels like he’s already lost her attention.

Defeated, he turns on his heel to hide in his bedroom and act like his mother isn’t back but, as he’s fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder, she speaks up again.

“Dress nicely, Jisung. You’ll come with us.”

Jisung’s eyes widen in surprise. Yes, they have brought him to banquets a few times before but since they’ve started travelling more and more, it just doesn’t happen often. 

“Maybe you’ll learn something,” she adds. 

Jisung mutters something under his breath and rushes up the stairs to his room. He’s not sure he wants to go there. His parents’ business partners often bring their children with them to banquets, but Jisung never gets along with them. He’s unfamiliar with all the contracts and paperwork, and the stiff company doesn’t help at all with remembering things.

Closing the bedroom door behind himself, Jisung sighs. He feels that the banquet will only leave him feeling worse; once again will make him feel like an outsider despite how much he wants to fit in. He should get to work. He should start taking an interest in the future of the family business.

Sliding his hand over his face, Jisung leaves his bag on the bed before moving towards the closet to choose something nice to wear for the evening. He quickly finds a pair of black, elegant pants, a white blouse and a tie and hangs everything on the closet door so nothing gets creased. From the dresser Jisung takes out one of the golden watches—his parents would certainly like him to wear it. Not really to use it—he’s got a well functioning phone—but to show it off.

They might all be friends but it’s not news that everyone wants to show how successful and rich they are. Jisung supposes it’s the real reason why these banquets are held in the first place. 

When Jisung goes down to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, his mother no longer sits in the living room. He hears voices coming from the study, though, so he assumes it’s her and his father. To kill time, with nothing else better to do, Jisung sits down at the kitchen island and starts scrolling through social media. 

The clatter of heels against the marble floor takes his eyes off the phone. His mother must have some weird sixth sense to know where he is, even when Jisung sits in silence.

When she tells him to start getting ready, Jisung nods and obediently marches into the bathroom to take a shower.

Hot water running down his skin relaxes his muscles and, through the glass, Jisung watches with a slight smile as the entire room fills with steam. It’s a strange thing to be happy about but at the same time, so heart-warming and beautiful; that people can find happiness in such little, seemingly insignificant aspects of life. 

Jisung studies his own reflection in the mirror for a long moment and finally concludes that he feels fine. Well, it’s not a particularly glorious day but at least Jisung doesn’t want to hide underneath a blanket without a single will to live.

He lifts the corners of his mouth up and turns in different directions, practicing his facial expressions. You can’t look gloomy at banquets like this, especially if you’re the son of one of the top entrepreneurs. Jisung remembers being scolded a bunch of times for not even pretending to be having fun; he’s too old to make that mistake again. 

His mother soon calls his name to let him know they have to leave. The car ride is quiet, even too quiet. Jisung exchanges glances with the chauffeur in the rearview mirror as the older man turns off the radio at the behest of Jisung’s father. It’s quite awkward—so fucking awkward—but he has to endure it.

They stop outside a villa located quite nearby. It takes Jisung’s breath away. The iron but modern gate stands wide open, welcoming the cars that drive up every now and then, and the whole building, illuminated by lanterns, looks absolutely stunning in the glow of the night. 

Jisung wishes he could stand and watch it in all its glory but his parents rush him to join them. He trots behind as they greet their partners and friends, exchanging hugs and compliments, accepting praises about Jisung, confirming that he is in fact an impeccable son. Jisung smiles each time despite the knowledge that he is definitely not at all as perfect as they portray him to be. 

As his parents talk to one of the investors—whom Jisung doesn’t know but the man’s wearing too much perfume; to the point Jisung feels like he’s outside with fresh air after stepping aside—he feels someone squeeze his forearm. He turns around and raises his eyebrows up, surprised upon seeing his friend. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Hyunjin admits and Jisung only shrugs. 

“My parents came back today and wanted me to come for some reason.”

Hyunjin chuckles, just to smile at one of the passing waiters and snatch two champagne glasses off their tray. He hands one of them to Jisung and says, “Here’s to not dying from boredom here.” 

Jisung shakes his head indulgently, but in his head he must admit Hyunjin’s toast hits home. To that, Jisung can drink a few more glasses. 

“And you? What are you doing here?” he asks.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “My parents had to fly to Shanghai like an hour ago and decided I can manage here by myself, so… here I am.” 

With guilt creeping up his back, Jisung envies him. Hyunjin’s family is filled with love to the point it overflows, yet it’s not sickening or false. It’s just a pure bond, clearly so different to most of the families gathered at the banquet.

Hyunjin’s mom often invites their group to hang out at their house, no matter how loud they could get sometimes. His dad plays football with them sometimes, just so there’s an equal amount of players in each team even though they’re just kicking the ball in Hyunjin’s backyard. He always orders pizza for them, too and jokes about inviting himself to their “guys’ night”. 

Jisung likes being in their house. 

“But,” Hyunjin begins again, watching Jisung’s face closely, probably realizing there’s a whole sea of intrusive thoughts flooding his mind. “Seriously, you’re the last person I expected to see here.” 

Jisung furrows his brows, taking another sip of champagne. With peach aroma on his tongue, he looks around the ridiculously enormous living room. 

“I mean… in the end it’s Minho’s house.”

Jisung turns his head to Hyunjin so quickly that the world blurs and spins right in front of his eyes. His friend grabs his arm to keep him from falling and his hand lingers on Jisung’s shoulder even after Jisung mumbles that he’s alright.

“Sorry, I thought you knew. But don’t worry,” Hyunjin says, yet his face is still stained with concern. “I’ve been to so many of these parties and I’ve never seen him. Not even once. Not even when they were in his house. He’s probably not showing up. And I’m pretty sure they’re having a setup with Daeil High.” 

“And how do you know these things?”

Jisung knows Hyunjin heard his question but he still downs his glass of champagne with a huge sip instead of answering. Jisung rolls his eyes and leaves him be. 

Once again he sweeps his gaze over the huge living room, looking for any familiar faces, but finds no one other than the girl he remembers from biology class.

His parents are standing by the piano, talking to another couple. Despite the friendly gestures they’re exchanging, Jisung recognizes his mother’s fake smile. 

“They’re talking to Minho’s parents,” Hyunjin tells him in a quiet voice after following his gaze.

Jisung lets out an exaggerated sigh but quickly remembers where he is and puts on a soft, neutral smile. It’s suffocating. 

He rips his eyes away from his parents to let it drift back to the most pleasant sight in the room. 

“He’s actually persecuting me,” Jisung mumbles in a conspiratorial tone, eliciting a soft laugh from Hyunjin. “I’m not kidding! Seriously. It’s—it’s too much.”

“Your mom doesn’t look too content so I don’t think you should be worried about them making you befriend him.”

Jisung can’t resist scoffing. Seeing Minho’s parents walk away—either to get away from his parents or just talk to someone else as perfect hosts they’re most likely trying very hard to be—Jisung sets down his empty glass on the table with a thud and grabs Hyunjin’s hand to drag him to his parents.

Because of Hyunjin’s commitment to the family business, Jisung’s parents are very fond of him. So much so that sometimes it seems like they’d much prefer to have Hyunjin as their son. But Jisung is also trying his absolute best, and he knows his parents realize, so he quickly gets rid of those intrusive thoughts.

If Hyunjin whispers a word or two to them about how they spent their time talking about the future of their companies and the projects they’re dreaming of, his parents will surely be downright entranced.

“Oh, Hyunjin!” his mother calls. His father turns when he hears his wife and, staring straight into Jisung’s eyes, nods approvingly. “I heard you’re here representing your parents.”

“That’s right, ma’am.”

Jisung feels like laughing out loud when he notices how Hyunjin sends his parents his business smile. Jisung’s father listens with interest as the boy talks about their new project, the one they’ve been planning for months, the one already so vigorously mentioned at the top of every article about upcoming construction projects everyone is waiting for. 

“Ah, right. It’s the fusion with Hong Enterprises, isn’t it?” his father asks, as if he hasn’t been following the project and cursing out the CEO of the company for “stealing this offer right out of his hands”. Pure bullshit. Even Jisung knows that. 

“That’s right! It’s the leisure centre on Jungmun beach. Dad wants to expand the construction site even further, so they are negotiating for more parcels, but—personally—I think everything will work out well,” Hyunjin admits with a warm smile. 

Jisung’s father nods, exchanging looks with his wife. 

“Well, then, I really do hope we’ll be able to visit it soon.” 

Jisung isn’t paying much attention to their conversation but he’s watching them closely. He sees the way his mother sneaks glances at their joined hands, yet he doesn’t let Hyunjin go. Hyunjin squeezes his hand once and twice, letting him know Jisung has nothing to worry about; that Hyunjin will pull through the conversation and the only thing Jisung needs to do is stand right next to him. 

It’s quite funny how often his friends just keep saving his ass. 

When Jisung’s parents get noticed by a pair of investors, they excuse themselves and walk away to talk even more business. Jisung doesn’t know how they can do that—talk about the same thing over and over like it’s not the most boring stuff in the world. 

Hyunjin pulls him forward to one of the tables, muttering, “I’m starving.” 

With their plates filled with food, they stand next to a group of other teenagers who seem just as tired as they are. Jisung doesn’t speak much, but—strangely, considering the circumstances—doesn’t feel alienated at all. One of the girls, who introduces herself as Eunji, tells him about the chocolate cheesecake with strawberries; it’s embarrassing how quickly Jisung grows a liking for her. However, it turns out that she goes to a private all-girls school, so there’s not much chance of a deeper friendship.

“I do know a glorious pastry shop, though. Seriously, their tiramisu is otherworldly! My girlfriend took me there a few times and… damn, just thinking about it makes me want to go back. I’m sure you’d like it!” Eunji tells him, really excited about something seemingly insignificant. Jisung can’t help but smile, too, and assures he’ll let her know what he thinks about their pastries after he tries them out. 

With every word spoken, every bite of food, every sip of champagne, Jisung grows sleepier and more tired. That’s why he’s actually glad when one of the workers tells him that his parents are going back home; he thanks them and bids Hyunjin and newly met friends goodbye. 

It’s pretty late, so there aren’t as many guests left as there were in the beginning, yet Jisung has to force an apologetic smile and utter ‘excuse me’s to push through the crowd. When he gets to the courtyard, Jisung trembles from the piercing cold. Chilly October wind blows right into his face but Jisung closes his eyes and takes a few breaths. It’s a good change to the stuffy air inside. Jisung is glad to be outside. 

Moments later, he’s walking down the steps and heads for the familiar car. Jisung must admit that he’s in no hurry at all; quite enjoying the way the low heels of his shoes clatter against the cobblestones of the driveway. 

His mother sends him a smile as he finally gets into the black BMW. Jisung’s surprised, but he returns the sudden gesture and buckles up. Chauffeur asks if they’re ready to go and starts the engine as Jisung’s father nods. 

The car is pleasantly warm—a contrast to the wind twirling outside—and, as Jisung leans against the headrest and closes his eyes, he feels as if he might fall asleep at that exact moment. His parents are whispering about something, but Jisung is too tired to pick up the subject.

Suddenly, however, he feels his mother’s hand gently caressing his thigh. Jisung opens his eyes, surprised, and looks at her with raised eyebrows. 

“You know, Jisung?” she begins, voice softer than ever. “I’m so glad you’re not like Eunjung’s song. I’d go into cardiac arrest if you became such a hooligan.”

It takes Jisung a moment to realize she means Minho. As it reaches and settles in his mind, he can’t even bring himself to be happy about the praise. His stomach flips. Jisung sends his mother a light smile as a thank you, though, as she asks her husband to agree with her. 

Jisung turns his head back toward the window and lets out a sigh, watching how his breath settles on the glass as fog. 

Seriously, he can’t dream of anything other than to forget about Minho’s entire existence; yet, as if on purpose, the entire world seems to be pushing him into Jisung’s cozy home, double-locking the door and throwing away the key, building walls around them two trapped inside; entwining Jisung in a situation he has no intention to be a part of. 

When he’s falling asleep that night, it seems as if the stars stuck to the ceiling of his bedroom regained their faded glow. Jisung stares at them with a slight smile curling up the corners of his lips until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Jisung lets the stars fill his mind, engrave themselves on the inner side of his eyelids; let them enchant his dreams with tender images of an idyll in the heart of the Universe.

Jisung dreams of discovering all its deepest secrets.

He’s surprised to see his parents quietly drinking coffee in the kitchen the next morning; it’s not like they stay at home for longer than two days, or that Jisung sees them in the morning before he goes to school, before they disappear again for hell knows how long. 

Jisung stops in his tracks and blinks a few times; it crosses his mind that it might be just his imagination—a sleepy mind trying to keep him living his deepest dreams.

“Good morning,” Jisung mumbles, hesitant and sits down by the kitchen island across from his father. The man looks up from his tablet and twists his face in a grimace; Jisung prefers to assume it’s supposed to be a smile. 

“Do you have a lot of classes today?” his mother asks. 

Jisung reaches for the coffee pot and pours it into his mug, nodding. He has to think before answering in more detail; when it comes to school, there are only a few things that parents might want to hear. 

“My schedule is packed,” Jisung finally answers and he’s not lying. “But I’m doing well and spending a lot of time studying. You don’t have to worry. The last thing you should expect from me is bringing you shame.” 

His mother nods, satisfied, and even smiles. It’s nothing big; if he’s to look closer, Jisung won’t even see the corners of her mouth quirked up. Yet, she’s doing better than his father. She raises her hand up with visible hesitance, but after a moment she furrows her eyebrows and lowers it clumsily, probably not sure herself what exactly she wants to do. If she is planning to show Jisung affection in her strange way then she succeeds quite well; he feels warmth spreading across his cheeks and it’s nice. Jisung hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Is Youngsik driving you to school?” 

Jisung turns to his father, who’s still scrolling through his tablet. It shouldn’t be a surprise that even a lazy morning at home is not lazy to his parents. Do they ever stop working?

“No, Hyunjin’s driver picks us up on the way,” Jisung says. “It’s more eco-friendly.” 

Hearing his reply, Jisung’s father finally tears his eyes off the screen and looks at him, clearly amused. Turning to his wife, he breathes, “Did you hear, Miyeong? It’s eco-friendly.”

“Jisung is growing to become a good businessman.”

He’d rather hear “Jisung is growing to become a good human being” instead, but something similar coming from his parents' mouths is already a big compliment. Whilst they’re here, he’s going to enjoy what he can get.

Classes pass by before Jisung can even get bored—in maths they’re going over the exercises he already finished a few days ago, and in literature class they start discussing a series of poems—Jisung likes them so much that he writes three full pages of notes.

He and his friends have lunch in the canteen, and Felix even brings them brownies he’s baked himself—they’re heavenly, and Jisung isn’t even exaggerating when he says he’ll give Felix all the money in the world just to keep baking. 

While the rest of his friends are still changing in the locker room after gym class, Jisung takes his regular seat in the empty history classroom. Before the students even begin to stream in, the relative silence broken by noises coming from the hallway is disrupted by the history teacher.

He turns to Jisung with a smile and Jisung already knows he’s going to regret getting here early. 

“We’ll need the new books today but they’re still in the library. I know it’s a lot, but could you go and get them, please?” the teacher asks. He must notice the grimace that Jisung—poorly—tries to hide, as he adds, “I’d send someone else but you know how librarians are… And you’re—-you’re Jisung. I trust you, and the librarian trusts you.” 

Jisung can’t say no because of many different reasons but it’s the _trust_ that makes him stand up from his seat and say it’s no problem. 

But, turns out, it is a big, big problem. 

Jisung isn’t religious but he sure does feel like calling all the possible deities to help him. He lets out a strangled groan as soon as he manages to grab all the books. 

Is there really no one else at school who can help with carrying the brand new history textbooks from the library all the way to the classroom two floors below?

It’s not like Jisung is weak—he used to go to the gym three times a week at one time, but now he reduces it to occasional morning runs, so yes, he definitely has built some muscle—but it should be stated in the school statute—or in the Children’s Rights Act!—that minors shouldn’t carry five kilograms of textbooks around, and Jisung is pretty sure that those twenty-five thick books weigh at least fifty kilograms—

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But what he’s currently carrying is definitely more than five kilos. 

Jisung chews on his lower lip, careful not to trip on the stairs. As he stops at the bottom to take a breather, he can practically feel one of the textbooks slide off the very top; it would probably fall to the floor (and Jisung along with it and the rest of the books, trying to catch it) if it isn’t for the person coming out from behind him and gracefully catching the textbook in their hands. 

“Oh, thank—”

The words die out when Jisung’s eyes meet with the chocolate ones that for some time now have been constantly tugging at his nerves. Lee Minho’s lips are quirked up and he’s clearly having a lot of fun annoying Jisung just with his presence. And Jisung would punch him in the face if he wasn’t carrying twenty books in his sore hands. 

He feels the gazes of everyone in the hallways on them. Maybe not everyone is staring, but Jisung feels like they are—he hears their whispers and with just a single glance to the side can actually see some of them shamelessly gawking. 

“Oh, look, it’s Minho and Jisung again!” “I didn’t think they were really going out!” “They look pretty cute together!” 

They could at least be more subtle if they want to discuss Jisung and Minho’s non-existent love life right next to them so badly. 

“I’ll help you,” Minho lets out and, not even letting Jisung react, without breaking a sweat he yanks the pile of books from his hands and begins marching through the hallway. 

Students observing the situation react with exaggerated agitation, not even trying to hide their whispers. They’re really starting to piss Jisung off. Not that they haven’t been pissing him off for the past weeks. It just gets worse when they’re doing it so shamelessly where he can hear and see. 

“Since when does Minho help people? Jisung must be really important to him.”

No, Jisung isn’t of any importance to him. Minho is only playing with the fact that people are talking about them—about him—gloats about teasing him and driving him crazy. Minho is unpredictable because he keeps doing things that rule out; he’s dangerous. 

But Jisung, whether he wants it or not, has to trot behind him with zero rate success in trying to snatch at least some of the books from him. 

“Leave it, you chipmunk,” Minho chuckles. It’s the last straw, really—Jisung smacks him in the arm (so hard he hopes it will leave a bruise), glaring, so it’s clear that the stupid nickname that came out of his mouth is off the table. 

Of course Jisung doesn’t like it when people are mocking his looks—who the fuck does?—but it makes him feel especially timid when it’s someone as handsome as Lee Minho saying it.

Because Minho is handsome—Jisung is not denying that. 

It’s just that he isn’t anything more than a pretty face and fights in the dark corners of the city.

“I said I’d help you.”

“You don’t even know where to go,” Jisung tells Minho, falling in step with him as they stroll through the hallways.

He’s trying very, very hard not to lash out. If Minho realizes what’s bothering him, he’ll probably just strike right into that next time. Jisung doesn’t need that. 

“I can see these are history textbooks.” 

Minho looks at him like he’s an idiot, however, the super friendly smile lingers on his lips and—no, it’s definitely not friendly. Jisung can’t figure out what it really means but he knows it’s not friendly or warm or anything good.

Minho keeps making fun of him, gloating about the fact that people around him are gossiping. He loves being the centre of attention—cool, Jisung does not give a single damn—but it’s not right that he gets Jisung involved in his stupid games. 

“I didn’t think you know what a history textbook looks like,” Jisung huffs. “Or that you can read.”

Minho sucks in a breath in mock offense. “Hey, that’s actually very mean,” he says, but Jisung only shrugs. 

“Turn right here,” Jisung directs him. Minho only shoots him a glance out of the corner of his eyes. Jisung notices it—it’s like he’s hyperaware around him—and rolls his eyes. (It feels like he can’t help but roll his eyes every three seconds when Minho is close.) “What?” 

“I know where the history classroom is.” 

“Have you ever showed up for a history class in the first place?” 

When they finally stand in front of the right door, Jisung pushes it open and lets Minho in first. Minho puts the books down on the teacher’s desk and leans against it, watching Jisung as he sorts through the textbooks and puts them on every student’s desk. 

“I have,” Minho tells him, eyes never leaving Jisung; he can’t see it, keeping his back turned to Minho on purpose, but his gaze burns hellish fire. “History is probably the only class I consistently go to.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything for a long moment and continues laying out books. But then he turns to Minho and, not able to resist the biting remark, jeers, “Congrats.” 

He freezes, though, when he sees the expression on Minho’s face. He’s staring at Jisung almost without blinking, with a cocky grin wandering on his lips, giving the impression that _he_ is the one mocking. 

Jisung turns his head towards the window, just to avoid looking at Minho’s annoying face. If he keeps his gaze on him a moment longer, he’ll probably pass out from anger. Muttering something under his breath, Jisung crosses his arms over his chest. 

He doesn’t know what Minho is still doing here. Since he so kind-heartedly wanted to help Jisung, he should have gone as soon as he crossed the threshold of the room and put the textbooks on the desk.

But Minho is still standing here, nonchalantly leaning against the desk, enjoying the strange atmosphere that Jisung finds suffocating.

“I thought you were going to leave me alone,” Jisung admits after a moment. Minho furrows his brows. “After I told you we weren’t—”

“I remember,” he interrupts. Running fingers through his hair, Minho puts on a grin and adds, “No way, though. I like it too much when you get angry.”

With a huff, Jisung turns back to the window and, having nothing to do with himself while Minho is here, begins adjusting the books so that they lay perfectly aligned against the edges of the tables. When he doesn’t respond to the taunts and remains silent, Minho’s laughter dies down. He mumbles something under his breath, but Jisung isn’t interested enough to be listening.

He sighs to himself and takes his phone out of the pocket of his dark jeans. He checks the time and isn’t wrong—the lesson should start any minute now. Even more so, he doesn’t understand what Minho is still doing there. And why none of his friends are here. Why have none of the students come into the classroom yet?

Jisung turns towards the door to see if they’re still sitting in the hallway. But as he walks past Minho—still stubbornly trying to ignore his unwanted presence—the older grabs his forearm. His skinny but wounded fingers gently wrap around his wrist and Jisung—Jisung can’t continue to pretend he doesn’t see him. 

He lifts his gaze, but by rolling his eyes he makes it clear that he doesn’t feel like looking at Minho at all. Minho, however, persistently tries to force him to make eye contact. Jisung isn’t weak. He’s not going to give in.

Minho must realize—he lets out a sigh and asks, “Are you angry with me?”

“No offense but you’re not really worth getting angry at,” Jisung huffs. He has no damn idea whether his answer is satisfying enough for Minho but he doesn’t care at all, either. 

The muffled sound of the lesson bell comes from the hallway, the classroom door immediately swings open, and students begin to come inside. Jisung jumps away from Minho like he’s burnt, snatching his hand from his embrace and swerthing away, but to no avail. Everyone has already seen them. And if they haven’t, they’ll be told. 

Jisung is seriously beginning to despise this school.

He stops himself from killing Minho on the spot and settles on fixing him with a glare. Leaving him behind, Jisung walks to his seat, yet can’t help but watch Minho out of the corner of his eye; he sees the way Minho sends him one last look, shaking his head with the remnants of a smile lingering on his lips before leaving the classroom, passing Jisung’s surprised friends. 

As Felix clambers into the chair next to him and shakes his shoulder, Jisung lays his head on the desk and lets out a loud groan. He can’t see the way his friends exchange knowing glances, but he’s grateful that at least they’re keeping the remarks to themselves.

At one point during the class, when a couple sitting at the back of the class can’t help but gossip about Jisung loud enough for him and most likely everyone to hear, Seungmin turns towards them and tells them to shut the hell up if they don’t have anything clever to say. Jisung expects a reprimand from the teacher, but he just wags his finger disapprovingly and sends Jisung an understanding smile. 

Just what Jisung needs—for teachers to know, too. It can’t get any worse. 

Because of all this, when Jisung finally finds time to go to the library and calmly lay out his literature essay a few days later, it feels like Lee Minho will jump out from behind the bookshelf and scream right in his face.

However, nothing like this happens. (Jisung is honestly very surprised.)

The library is remarkably quiet, and the only thing disturbing Jisung’s longed-for peace is the girl who rustles a packet of crisps on the other side of the table. Jisung is only a little bit tempted to walk over, take her food and throw it into the trash bin, but decides not to waste food. Or spoil his good day.

Because a day free of Minho’s annoying presence is a day downright wonderful. 

He doesn't even care about the strange and unfounded anxiety lurking somewhere in the corners of his head, and leaves the library, heading to his next class with a smile and the finished draft of his essay shoved between the pages of his textbook.

It is weird to not see Minho in the canteen nor in the hallways but it’s not like Jisung is looking for him. Lee Minho just draws attention. 

Jisung’s wide grin can’t be missed. Hyunjin nudges his side as they head to maths and asks why he’s in such a good mood, but Jisung can’t give him an answer. He just takes a deep breath and says, “The air is crisp today.”

“We’re next to the P.E. locker room, Jisung. There hasn’t been any crisp air in here for a long, long time.” 

Jisung just shrugs, trying to bite back a smile, and takes his seat in the classroom. He pays no attention to the giggling Hyunjin. If he looks at him, he’ll definitely burst out laughing, too. 

It’s weird that he feels so relaxed only because of Minho’s absence, but he’d be stupid to complain.

When a few days later his good mood seems to fly away with the wind, Jisung expects to see Minho entering the biology class. Well, he’s sure that this time Minho will come in late, maybe even on purpose. But when he peers from his notebook at the clock hanging on the wall, and then to the seat next to the black-haired girl that has been taken by someone else, Jisung realizes that Minho isn’t showing up. 

He has no idea why he’s even thinking about it so much. He has no idea why his stomach tightens in that uncomfortable way that makes him want to puke a little. He has no idea why a worried thought out of nowhere appears in the back of his head. Small, quiet, uncertain. But it’s there.

Jisung hunches up, sighing softly enough that no one can hear him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the boy next to him sending him confused glances, as if he wants to ask if Jisung is alright. Despite the friendly expression on his pretty face, Jisung decides to ignore him.

“What’s been going on with you lately?” Hyunjin asks him the same evening, when the rest of the boys are sprawled across the wooden floor. Their screams while playing video games are loud enough for Hyunjin to bring the topic up.

Jisung turns his way but the questioning look on his face falters upon colliding with Hyunjin’s concern. 

“You’ve got terrible mood swings. Are you sure you’re alright?” he adds. 

Jisung scoots closer, resting his head on Hyunjin’s shoulder. Blazing warmth always radiates from Hyunjin; he exudes sheer positive energy, care and love. He’s one of the people who sincerely and limitlessly put their whole self into everything. Of course Jisung trusts him. But he doesn’t know what’s going on, either. So what is he supposed to tell him?

He settles on muttering, “I’m just tired.”

It’s not far-fetched. Jisung is tired; exhausted, even but the worst thing is—he just doesn’t know why. There’s no specific reason why he’s feeling so… weird. And it’s scary. 

Hyunjin lifts his hand to pat Jisung’s head. 

Jeongin, lying on the soft rug in front of the TV, turns to them and furrows his eyebrows. Before Jisung can react, before he can somehow ease his worry, Jeongin’s eyes widen and a cunning smile spreads across his mouth. 

“Oh my! Felix, they’re cuddling without you!” he exclaims with an exaggerated gasp. 

Felix turns around so quickly Jisung thinks he will break his neck. At the same time, Jeongin takes advantage of his lack of attention and defeats him in the game with a winning yell. When Felix realizes he was tricked, he hands Seungmin the pad and crawls towards Jeongin, wrapping his arms and legs around him, locking him in a firm embrace.

When Jeongin begins screaming and squealing, Hyunjin closes his eyes, swaying like he’s listening to a hit song, and smiles, pleased. “Music to my ears.”

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Minho shows up at school a few days later. 

When Jisung notices him taking his textbooks out of his locker, the first thing he notices about Minho is his bruised face. If he looks like this now, Jisung doesn’t want to think what it looked like before. 

He speaks to Changbin, immediately squeezing his eyes shut. Hand twitching upward, he quickly forces it to fall down beside his thigh. Minho looks like he’s refraining from touching his (certainly) sore face. But Jisung feels like the scowl isn’t because of the pain—it looks as if they only make him angry.

His left hand is bandaged (very poorly). The bandage is loose, but Minho doesn’t seem to care. Like the dressing is there only because someone made him wrap the wound to protect it. 

Jisung takes a look at his face—as closely as he can from across the hallway. The bruise around Minho’s eye is pale; it confirms Jisung’s thoughts—Minho must have been in a much worse state before. Single cuts on his cheeks and mouth seem close to healing—that’s why Jisung doesn’t notice them sooner. 

He lets out a strangled yelp, jumping up, surprised to feel a hand on his shoulder. Jisung turns, ready to scream at the person who decided to send him into cardiac arrest, but when he sees Felix, he just presses his lips into a thin line, holding back the remark out of love for his best friend, and turns back to his locker.

“What are you looking at?” Felix asks.

Jisung’s hand hangs mid-air on its way to the edge of his locker door. He blinks once, twice, and puts on the most genuine smile he can muster. “Nothing. Just got lost in my thoughts.” 

Felix only shrugs, not questioning him. Jisung, not wanting him to have to wait any longer for him or change his mind and bombard him with questions, takes out his English textbook and shuts the metal door of his locker with a thud. 

When Jisung turns to face the hallway, his eyes involuntarily wander to the other side, where two boys are exchanging hushed words, with one of them leaning his shoulder against the wall.

As if feeling his gaze, Minho turns his head towards him. Shadow of surprise passes over his face, but it’s replaced by a neutral expression and, as if nothing happened, before Jisung can dwell on it, Minho returns to his conversation with Changbin. 

Jisung, for unknown reasons, feels like a complete idiot.

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Jisung doesn’t usually skip classes, but when Jeongin starts begging him to not practice during P.E. with him and promises to buy him cake next time they go to _Verona_ , Jisung can’t say no. 

They approach the teacher, and Jeongin twists his face in unimaginable pain, taking the responsibility of playing the role of a poor, injured student who regrets very much that he doesn’t feel well enough to participate in the class.

Jisung grabs Jeongin’s hand and takes on a worried expression himself, just to add drama and further influence the fragile heart of the young woman.

“Jeongin feels sick since the very morning but he didn’t want to skip school,” says Jisung, voice soft. He lets out a sigh, glancing at Jeongin—and mentally slapping himself for putting all of him into this—and pouts, turning to the teacher. “Do you think it’s alright for him to spend this hour in the library, Ma’am?” 

The teacher eyes them both, worried look on her face. “You do really look pale. Go with him, Jisung. We wouldn’t want him to faint and hurt himself,” she instructs. Jisung nods in understanding and mutters under his breath. Someone from across the gym calls for the teacher, so she turns to walk away, sending them one last concerned look over her shoulder.

Jisung and Jeongin don’t drop the act until they’ve climbed onto the top floor, where the library is. When they get to the farthest corner of the room, hidden behind shelves filled with books, they both burst out laughing and slam hands over their mouths so as not to make too much noise.

“I want choco cheesecake,” Jisung breathes; it’s stupid that he can’t help but smile like this. “With raspberries.” 

Jeongin nods—obedient for the first time in a long time—and heads to the huge armchair in the corner that seems quite old with its floral patterns. He huddles up, drawing his knees to his chest, and closes his eyes. Jisung isn’t really surprised that Jeongin prefers sleeping in a timeworn library chair to playing volleyball in the gym. He himself isn’t going to complain about the fact that he’s the one accompanying Jeongin here. 

Jisung takes his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling through Instagram. In no time he gets bored clicking hearts on his friends’ posts and watching funny cat videos, especially since he’s got to refrain from bursting out laughing. Due to the fact that Jeongin tries to sleep off the entire month during one hour of class, and because Jisung is in the library and his conscience isn’t letting him disturb other students.

In the end, Jisung decides to take a quiet walk between the shelves. It’s been a while since he’s read something that isn’t a textbook; he eyes the variety of categories, every now and then taking one of the books out. In the end, he puts each of them back in their places.

When Jisung reaches the corner he usually occupies while studying, someone clears their throat behind him. Jisung is ready to turn and glare at them for making irritating noises in the library, but he stops and just rolls his eyes, not bothering.

“Hi, chipmunk,” he hears and freezes like it’s a natural response. It crosses his mind that it might just be a delusion. Yeah, what else? That’s why Jisung thinks it’s best to ignore the voice, walk away, and— “Hey, you there? Earth to the chipmunk!” 

“Shut up,” Jisung can’t stop himself from hissing out. He turns to the table with a scowl, anger dripping from his lips.

But Lee Minho is indifferent—he’s sitting there; stupid, arrogant grin spreading and spreading across his lips. Jisung wants nothing more than to wipe it off his face with sandpaper, oh, so bad. 

He crosses arms over his chest and adds, “And don’t call me a chipmunk.”

“You don’t like that?”

Jisung tries his best to resist launching at Minho and choking him right on the spot. “I don’t like being made fun of.”

Minho frowns. “But I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” Jisung interrupts, shaking his head. “I really don’t need this right now.” 

Wasting no more time on Minho, he reaches for one of the books displayed in the recent releases section. With graphics eye-catching, Jisung can’t help but let it linger in his hands longer than the others. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s tried to not judge books by their covers; somehow he’s still biased towards golden graphics. 

“I seriously didn’t mean it that way. I won’t call you that anymore,” Jisung hears again behind his back. Moment passes before he turns around, but when he does, Minho is staring up at him with exceptionally sincere eyes. Jisung can’t remember if he’s ever seen him like this. 

Feeling the awkward atmosphere around them, Jisung clears his throat. Looking around—earnestly avoiding Minho’s gaze—he takes a step forward, to leave Minho behind and go back to napping Jeongin.

“What did you do during bio?” Minho speaks up, making Jisung freeze mid-step. 

He lets out a sigh, feeling like Minho isn’t really interested in the class; like he’s only trying to make Jisung stay a little longer. That weird feeling—unexplainable, indescribable, confusing, meddling with his head—makes his stomach clench. Jisung is unsure; he doesn’t even know if he should be scared.

“Mrs Kang was just showing us some presentation about the curriculum,” he murmurs, back still turned to Minho. 

He probably doesn’t care at all; Minho isn’t the kind of person to be interested in grades or classes or missing them in the first place—that’s why him asking about it is freaking Jisung out. He clutches the book closer to his chest, not really knowing what to do. Yeah, Jisung might not be bound to help him or fill him in but if he was in his place, he’d like to know what they were doing in class. 

“And she mentioned some projects but nothing exact,” he says, then, turning back to face the table. And Minho. His eyes wander up to Jisung’s; the look so piercing it makes him feel like someone is hitting him in the back of his knees. Jisung can’t breathe. “I think—err—I think she might say something more tomorrow.” 

Minho nods in understanding yet Jisung feels like he’s not listening at all. He puffs out his cheeks, once again letting the strange feeling pool in his stomach. It’s like a routine by now—Jisung just can’t walk away from Minho, like his feet are glued to the ground, his head too heavy, keeping him in place.

Jeongin is most likely still sleeping, not complaining—probably even thankful—about Jisung’s absence. And Jisung definitely doesn’t want to disturb him. 

He doesn’t know what tempts him to take a step towards the table _and Minho_ but, as he takes the first one, he can’t retreat. Minho cocks an eyebrow—definitely noticing Jisung’s hesitation—but doesn’t say anything; not even when Jisung takes a seat across from him. Minho just keeps watching him with clear interest. 

Jisung clears his throat and opens the book he took from the shelf earlier, completely avoiding looking in Minho’s direction. But, as he begins reading, all the letters can’t seem to form any logical words in his exasperated mind. Getting to the next page takes him way too long but Jisung isn’t going to give up; even if Lee Minho finds shameless staring and making Jisung’s neck heat up an absorbing activity. 

Jisung mutters sentences under his breath, trying to make them make sense but they don’t. There’s so many distracting things in here, he thinks. The running ceiling fan, the murmur of someone turning pages nearby, the squeaky floor tile, and Minho’s eyes burning holes in him. 

Jisung can’t do this. He sneaks a glance at the boy sitting across him and, not really being able to resist anymore, asks, “When you weren’t at school… were you—were you in the hospital?” 

Minho looks at him like Jisung is crazy. Slightly embarrassed, Jisung doesn’t show it, maintaining awkward eye contact like his life depends on it. Maybe not his life—but his dignity does. 

“No. I left town so my brother wouldn’t have to see me like this.” Minho tells him, pointing to his face. Jisung nods in understanding. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so… defaced,” he admits. Minho chuckles like it’s actually something funny. Jisung really wants to kick him under the nable; he doesn’t. 

“I’ve looked worse, believe me.” 

“I don’t think your face is capable of looking bad.” 

Jisung snaps his mouth close, presses his lips together into a thin line as soon as these words get out in the open. Squeezing his eyes shut, he’s afraid to breathe. He’s sure Minho will be staring at him with that mocking grin on his face as soon as Jisung looks up; ready to ridicule and do everything in his power to get on his nerves. 

“You’re flattering me,” Minho says instead.

Jisung was prepared for more. (He wasn’t.) He hears murmurs and then the sound of the buttons of Minho’s jacket crashing against the wooden tabletop. A finger is poking his forearm. Oh, well. 

“Hey, it’s nothing.” 

Jisung dares to flutter his eyes open as he can’t hear the usual sneer in Minho’s voice. 

Minho shrugs, leaning back on the chair and adds, “I’m actually used to it—most of the school finds me above average handsome.” 

Jisung rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. Minho laughs, and Jisung doesn’t stop himself from kicking him right in the shin this time and scolding him for making too much noise in the library. 

“And it’s been so nice,” Jisung carries on, letting out an exaggerated sigh. A small—minuscule, barely visible!—smile still tugs on the corners of his lips. 

Minho is impossible. 

It’s hard to believe they’re having a pretty decent conversation, too, but that’s just how it is. Jisung feels like it might be a trickery—maybe he’s fallen asleep along with Jeongin and for some unknown reason Minho is starring in his strange dreams. 

The only proof that tells Jisung that he’s not in fact dreaming is the way Minho smiles at him when he looks up and his expression, the warm smile is much different than all those he’s seen on Minho’s face before; those he’s already gotten used to. 

_Maybe changing a routine can be good_ , Jisung thinks, and for the first time in forever his heart doesn’t feel heavy. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Jisung smiles to himself when Minho walks through the door and takes his usual seat next to black-haired girl whose name Jisung still doesn’t know. It’s stupid and embarrassing and Jisung wants to hide behind his book but he doesn’t; one moment of vulnerability in the spur of the moment. 

Sitting behind them, Jisung can’t hear what Minho and his friend are talking about but he can’t stop staring. The girl keeps stealing glances to the side, turning slightly to the left so it’s not that clear she’s looking at someone. But Minho’s eyes are attentive—Jisung experiences it firsthand—he must notice; he nudges her side, playful, and laughs out loud, drawing the attention of other students. 

He doesn’t look even slightly embarrassed. 

But Jisung feels it creep on him, staining his ears bright red, when Minho catches him staring. He straightens on his seat when their eyes meet. He doesn’t want to, really doesn’t want to think that Minho might be seeking _him_. 

He can’t name the feeling taking over him. His thoughts seem hazy, like he’s watching them through a fog; his mind shielded by a thick wall, common sense hidden behind a curtain Jisung doesn’t have enough strength to push aside. 

Letting air out of his lungs with a low whistle, Jisung looks away, focusing on the wooden tabletop. He’s playing with the clasp of his watch, doing and undoing it as if he’s found the greatest activity of all time.

Jisung might not be able to place the feeling, to name or describe it but what he can say is that he hates it with burning passion. 

Gulping, Jisung tries to regain clarity of mind by drawing shapeless patterns on his desk with his fingers, until the teacher walks into the room and closes the door. 

He really doesn’t know what’s been going on with him lately. 

Jisung absentmindedly writes down what the teacher is saying, highlighting particular words she’s repeating. He tries to memorize his notes, but already at this moment, even to him it seems like he doesn’t know what he’s writing. Maybe Jisung just doesn’t like the topic of water circulation in nature—he’s not sure.

With fifteen minutes left till the end of the lesson, Miss Kang says it’s a good time to take a closer look at the project she mentioned during the previous class. She’s leaning against the desk and smiling a little bit at the paper in her hand.

Sweeping a glance around the classroom, she finally clears his throat and says, Well, I think you all know how culturally rich our country is, but are you aware that it’s equally as wonderful when it comes to nature? She looks at her students again, as if hoping that their expressions will give her some non-verbal response. “I’d like this project to be enjoyable. There’s no actual deadline and you can present your work anytime, as long as you make it in time before the end of this school year.” 

Mrs Kang sends them all an encouraging smile; Jisung mentally sighs with relief. 

“The overall concept is ‘Most scientifically interesting places within Seoul and nearby towns’. Each group will be choosing one place where they’ll be going, will have to find something eye-catching, and at the same time fitting into the nature aspect and basically report what they saw.”

This Jisung likes a lot less. 

His friends don’t attend this class with him, and he doesn’t talk to anyone much. (If saying hi to the handsome boy sitting next to him is even considered a conversation.) Jisung definitely does not engage in social interactions unless he’s forced. All in all, working alone suits him much better than working with anyone else. He can then be sure that everything will go according to his plan, that everything will be done carefully and thoroughly, and that no one will ditch on the day of the presentation to do all the dirty work by himself. 

Jisung despises group projects. 

“I assume you can pair up on your own. But, of course, if there’s any problem with that, please come over,” Mrs Kang tells them. It’s embarrassing, the way Jisung shivers. “As we don’t have much time, please pair up quickly. Later, you’ll draw the place you’ll be going to, and I’ll send you the exact plan and example of the presentation by email, so that you won’t forget about anything.”

Jisung straightens up in his seat as the classroom erupts in whispers. Students shuffle their chairs and some of them ditch being silent and straight up shout to people sitting at the other end of the room.

He feels a flush of embarrassment involuntarily spreading across his cheeks. There’s absolutely zero chance that someone will approach him, and Jisung is too scared of the mere thought of accidentally choosing someone who can ultimately ruin the project to approach someone first. 

“We’re doing this together, right, Minho?” he hears, loud and clear. Jisung glances at the front of the classroom from under his long eyelashes, where the familiar yet unfamiliar black-haired girl returns from the teacher’s desk to her own seat, probably having asked Mrs Kang about something earlier.

Class is slowly going back to normal and the murmurs and whispers are fading away, giving way to silence. Minho doesn’t answer her for a moment, as if still making up his mind.

“Wait—I think I’d rather do it with Jisung.” 

Jisung lifts his head up so quickly he feels the muscles in his neck aching. Grabbing the nape, he rubs it with his fingers. Hesitantly looking up at Minho, Jisung finds him already staring. His gentle smile is a novelty, a completely unexpected novelty that Jisung still can’t get used to; can’t wrap his head around. Like a complete moron Jisung chokes on air, only making the black-haired girl giggle.

“Alright, I get it,” she says, voice soft but there’s this dangerous glint in her eyes when she looks at Jisung. Scary. 

She turns to the window, almost losing balance as some girl pokes her hip. “Hey, Momo, do you wanna do this project with me?”

Jisung can’t help but stare at them. Momo—Minho’s black-haired friend whose name he knows now—opens her mouth in surprise, then turns to Minho with a panicked expression. 

“Do I wanna—” Momo trails off. Shifting her gaze back to the girl sitting by the window, she flips her hair and puts on an expression so different to the one Jisung saw just a second ago. “Sure, Sana. Of course.” 

Minho watches them, clearly content; as if there’s something happening in front of his eyes—something he’s been waiting for a long time. When the school bell rings, Minho waves a dismissive hand saying it’s okay that Momo and Sana go to discuss the project and that no, he won’t be missing Momo too much; Jisung can’t help but notice him winking at Momo as she pretends not to see it at all.

Jisung gathers his notebook and slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder. Not looking back, he leaves the classroom. He lets out a tired sigh, rubbing the side of his face. Jisung has no idea who to ask to partner with him for the project.

Because Minho couldn’t be serious. 

The mere thought seems ridiculous, even in his mind. Jisung scoffs. 

When he’s nearing the canteen, where he’s supposed to meet his friends, someone grabs Jisung’s arm. His first instinct—like every person’s—is to break out of the embrace, and the second is to turn to the stranger and yell at them to not touch others. But Jisung turns and realizes it’s not a stranger.

Lee Minho is standing in front of him, shaking his head with sheer amusement. “I’ve been calling your name since you’ve left the classroom. Did you not hear or are you just ignoring me?” 

“Oh,” Jisung lets out. “Sorry, got lost in thoughts.” 

Jisung fixes the strap of his bag, sending Minho a questioning look. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see a few students shamelessly watch them. Jisung should’ve gotten used to it but it’s still uncomfortable, embarrassing to be the centre of attention just because he’s talking to Minho. He didn’t ask for it. He doesn’t need it. 

The only think Jisung needs is some good fucking food, his warm bed and Felix’s soft voice to lull him to sleep. Yes, sleep would be nice. Jisung’s been too stressed lately. 

“Huh—Are you—Are you deep in thought again?” Minho cocks an eyebrow, amused.

Jisung feels warmth spreading across his cheeks and it makes everything even more humiliating. Run, his mind tells him, and Jisung wants to do just that. Run, or let the ground swallow him whole. Either is fine. Jisung isn’t fussy. 

Minho doesn’t give him a chance to, though, because he carries on, “I was serious about the project. If that’s okay with you, of course.” 

Oh. 

Lee Minho offering him to pair up for a biology project is so impossible that it doesn’t make the list of ‘One thousand and one things that Jisung doesn’t expect in his life’ he’s been making in his head for the past years. 

Jisung’s mouth hangs open; he doesn’t even try to hide the surprise. Standing there beside the cafeteria door, in plain view, where all the students passing by can stare at them unceremoniously if they want to, Jisung feels uneasy. He clears his throat, thought, and thinks for a moment; about how to put his thoughts into words so that random gibberish doesn’t leave his mouth and embarrass him further.

“I don’t—I don’t think I mind,” he says, hesitant. Minho sweeps his gaze over Jisung’s face, as if searching for _something_. Something. “If you don’t set me up later and make me do everything by myself, then I’m in.”

“Who do you take me for, Han Jisung?” 

“Do you really want to know?” 

Minho doesn’t answer. He runs fingers through his hair and nods in understanding. If Jisung felt awkward before, it only gets worse now. He looks away, gaze wandering everywhere except to Minho.

The cafeteria door keeps opening and closing, and since his friends haven’t passed by yet, they must be inside. It’s better this way—it’s good that they can’t see him and Minho together.

Jisung clears his throat and manages to utter, “Well, then—I guess… we’ll get in touch sometime.” 

“Yeah, alright,” Minho mumbles. He takes a step back but, before he can turn and walk away, he stops and adds, “See you around.” 

Jisung does not know what the fuck he means by that so he just nods his head and sends Minho—whose back is already facing him and who can’t see him unless he’s got eyes on the back of his head—a smile; it’s more of an embarrassed grimace but it’s something. 

Minho quickly disappears from his field of view but Jisung needs another moment before he enters the cafeteria. He takes a deep breath and another one, runs a hand through his hair, and clutches the strap of his bag in his hand. Turning to the double doors, Jisung pushes them open and comes inside. 

His friends are occupying the same table as usual—across the door but further back—so Jisung finds them quickly. He strolls towards them, a smile tugging at his lips, and plops down on the seat next to Jeongin. He can’t help but steal a waffle from Jeongin’s lunchbox—it looks too delicious and Jisung likes making his friends’ lives miserable. He gets a glare in return, but Jeongin doesn’t say anything, so Jisung’s cheeky smile only widens.

They talk about the enormous amount of math homework—that probably is borderline illegal—and then Felix begins complaining about his parents threatening him that if he doesn’t start going to bed earlier, they’ll lock away his computer. Seungmin and Jisung snicker but Jeongin actually looks like he feels sorry for him. 

“Who am I supposed to play with, then? Damn, you gotta pretend you’re sleeping or something!” he exclaims. Somehow, it makes them laugh even more, and when they start giggling without any shame, Jeongin hides his face in his hands. Jisung assumes he’s blushing in embarrassment and he really, really wants to make him suffer more. 

But he can’t. Because Jeongin despises being the centre of attention just as much as he does and, out of spite and revenge, pushes it onto Jisung. 

“Anyways, what were you even doing with Lee Minho in front of the cafeteria?” he asks, clearly curious. At the beginning, Jisung doesn’t realize the question is directed at him; but Jeongin’s insolent face makes him straighten up. 

“We’re—we’re paired for a project,” he says. Seungmin cocks an eyebrow in surprise. Jisung only sighs, propping his chin on his hand. “I know.” 

“Ah, I thought that maybe he was inviting you to his birthday party.”

Jisung frowns. “Why would he—?” 

Hyunjin and Jeongin exchange knowing looks, not bothering to fill in anyone else. Jisung eyes them, growing more and more confused.

“Well, you know… ‘cause lately he’s just been around a lot,” Seungmin points out.

“It’s not my fault that life hates me and keeps pushing him my way.”

Jisung feels the unreasonable annoyance tickling his stomach. He looks down at the table, with the last of his strength stopping himself from getting up and running away; far from his friends, far from their stupid questions, far from gossping students, far from Minho.

Jeongin nudges him in the side. “It’s nothing bad, though. Minho might be annoying but he’s not that bad, huh?” 

Jisung doesn’t know if he can agree. 

He lifts his head up but doesn’t look at any of his friends, afraid that his sour expression will cause a stupid and pointless fight. So, he takes out his lunchbox and, even though he’s not even in the mood for rice with vegetables now, Jisung keeps dabbing his lunch with metal chopsticks; just to do something; just to keep himself from saying a word too much. 

Felix is the one who breaks the silence that fell over their table. “Minho’s throwing a birthday party? I thought he wouldn’t. You know, considering someone called the police last year and he almost got arrested.”

Jisung only heard about it from gossip. Felix, Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin sometimes go to theupperclassmen’s parties, but Jisung always declines saying it’s not his thing. In reality, he doesn’t even know what goes on during those… events; he’s never been interested enough to ask. Yet, at Felix’s question, Jisung looks up, intrigued.

Hyunjin shakes his head. “You think he’d pass up an opportunity to get absolutely wasted? Nah. They’re probably gonna throw it at Changbin’s, since he lives in the suburbs so it’s less likely someone will actually complain about the noise.” 

Jisung isn’t going to ask how Hyunjin even knows where Seo Changbin lives. Though, judging over Seungmin’s expression and his raised eyebrows, he supposes he isn’t the only one to think about it. 

“If we get invited, I think I’ll pass out,” Felix tells them, before shoving a giant piece of a waffle into his mouth. He looks funny with powdered sugar all over his face. 

“Oh, I’m pretty sure Hyunjin will manage to get invites for us.” Jeongin ‘s face twists in a sly grin. Felix perks up, gaze falling to the side, but Hyunjin only shakes his head and ignores his curiosity. To be honest—Jisung is curious about what Jeongin means, too. 

If it’s some kind of secret—and it looks like it’s exactly that—it only assures Jisung further that Jeongin knows more than everyone thinks. It’s not worth messing with him; the loss is certain anyway—Jeongin has got some tricks up his sleeve. Jisung isn’t sure how he does it, but it seems like he’s got eyes and ears everywhere. Being disturbing aside, it makes Jisung a bit impressed.

This evening, when (once again) Jisung is home alone, he can’t stand the silence ringing in his ears (once again). He goes out with a purpose this time—his snack supplies have shrunk after he invited his friends over so he can’t even eat the loneliness away. He could drink it away, though. He’d only have to go to his parents’ office or the cellar. They probably wouldn’t even notice.

Nights only get colder with the end of October. Jisung further pulls his hat over his ears and quickens his pace. He’s just complained about the loneliness, but he wants to go home already, turn up the heating and drown in the soft duvet.

Loud “fuck” hissed out on his right snaps Jisung out of his thoughts. His heart leaps into his throat. He only hopes that nowhere in the darkness is some bandit waiting for a defenseless boy like Jisung to walk along the sidewalk to attack.

They hiss in pain and stumble, grasping the wall of the building with their hand. Jisung pauses as the street light hits their face. Minho. Of course it’s fucking Minho.

With his hand clutching his side, he’s leaning his head over the concrete wall. Skin on his knuckles is torn and red; face scratched and cut and Jisung is sure a bruise will appear later, too. Minho is breathing heavily—wheezing and gasping for air, looking like he’s barely standing on his feet. 

Jisung stands still, panicked, not knowing what to do. His heart crashes against his ribcage and, involuntarily, he takes a step forward. The soles of his shoes make a noise against the cobblestones and Minho snaps his eyes open. When his gaze lands on Jisung, he curses under his breath, shaking his head. It’s a bad idea—Minho’s hand flies to his neck and he presses his lips in a thin line. 

“Should I call an ambulance?” Jisung asks, hesitant. He doesn’t know if it’s the cold or the messed up situation unfurling right in front of his eyes, but his hands tremble. It’s weird to be seeing Minho like this; his mind is spinning and he can’t grasp a thought. 

“Don’t call anyone,” Minho breathes. His face twists with a grimace but he still pushes himself off the wall. Of course he loses balance—he’s stupid to think he wouldn’t. But Jisung leaps forward to grab his arm. Minho looks straight into eyes, and in the midst of sickening anger and irritation, Jisung notices panic. “I can handle it.”

“You can barely stand,” Jisung scoffs. Minho rolls his eyes but doesn’t say a thing. Jisung loosens the awkward grip on his arm but keeps holding him up. An idiotic thing crosses his mind and, before he even manages to say it aloud, he feels utmost embarrassment taking over his entire body. “If you wait here—If you don’t go anywhere, I’ll go to the store and get you something to clean up so you don’t get infected. It’s so fucking dirty in here.” 

Minho instantly objects. “You don’t have to—Jisung, leave me alone.” 

He must be more stupid than Jisung’s initially thought if he thinks his idiotic glare will make Jisung leave him here high and dry, when his whole face is smeared with blood. Hello, Jisung is friends with Jeongin! Minho can throw his death stares all he wants; Jisung isn’t leaving an injured person alone in the middle of the street at night. Even if this person is the most annoying boy Jisung has ever come across. 

“Stay here. I’ll be back.” 

Minho mumbles something under his breath but when Jisung turns once again and tells him to shut the hell up, he obeys and leans back on the wall, closing his eyes. All in all, Jisung still feels sorry for him. 

He storms into the convenience store, buying hydrogen peroxide, cotton pads and bandages. This and his elementary first aid skills must be enough. 

When he’s walking back, it crosses his mind that Minho might’ve run away, might’ve decided he’s better off walking around the city with his face covered in blood than waiting for Jisung. 

But Minho is still here; more hunched and exhausted, but he’s still standing. Relief washes over Jisung. If he decided to walk away and something else happened to him, Jisung would definitely blame himself. That’s also why he offered his help in the first place. If he didn’t, the guilt would crush him. 

Minho opens his eyes upon hearing Jisung’s footsteps. Something flashes over his face, and Jisung thinks that maybe he, too, is relieved that it’s Jisung who found him. 

Jisung tells him to sit down on the ground; he still helps with that, so Minho doesn’t fall and hit his head or something. It might’ve been fatal; and if he fell and died because of all his injuries, Jisung wouldn’t even know what to do with a body. Though, maybe if he called Seungmin, his friend would take care of that. 

Well. 

Jisung shakes his head, gaze landing back on Minho to find him already staring. He clears his throat, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the cotton pad, accidentally also onto his own finger. It’s not his fault his hands just won’t stop shaking. 

He moves closer to Minho and gently grabs him by the chin with one hand. Placing the cotton pad close to his eyebrow and warns, “It might sting a little.” 

“I can handle it,” Minho mumbles, voice weak. Jisung shrugs, expecting him to cuss or hiss or move away anyway. He doesn’t even hold back the surprise, when Minho actually handles it. Minho scoffs, “I told you.”

Jisung can only roll his eyes and push back the desire to press the pad to his injury so _vigorously_ that Minho _feels the stinging_. Jisung is not that big of a monster, though. He soaks a fresh cotton pad to completely get rid of the blood, then another one, and this time Jisung takes care of Minho’s lips. With his hand still on Minho’s chin, Jisung lifts his eyes for a second and almost chokes on his saliva seeing Minho’s been watching him closely all the time.

His fingers release Minho’s face like it burns him and he kneels, then takes out more cotton pads to soak them in hydrogen peroxide again. Shifting to the side, Jisung wobbles on the uneven ground, but Minho’s hand saves him from falling straight onto his lap as he places it on Jisung’s hip, stabilizing him.

“Be careful,” Minho tells him, removing his hand from Jisung’s body. It must be magic; how, even through the thick sweatshirt, Jisung can’t get rid of the burning feeling on his hip that Minho’s touch leaves behind.

He gulps, shifting to sit cross-legged on the cold ground and takes Minho’s hand into his own to gently wipe his scraped knuckles. When they look cleaner, Jisung sets Minho’s hand on his knee to open the bandage packet. 

“Fuck,” he lets out when the realization hits him. “I don’t have scissors.”

Minho furrows his brows, but when his eyes land on the bandage, he understands. With his other hand—still injured and scraped, but these wounds look older, somehow—Minho reaches to the side; Jisung follows the movement with his gaze. Minho fishes a pocket knife out of the darkness of the alley.

Jisung wonders why Minho didn’t use it against his attackers, but when he’s handed and opens it, Jisung sees blood. Grimacing, he reaches for one of the cotton pads to thoroughly clean the surface off bacteria. Ew. 

Jisung unrolls the bandage and carefully cuts it with the knife, then lifts Minho’s hand to wrap and secure it, making sure the wounds can breathe, too. 

As he’s rolling the remnants of the bandage back, Jisung remembers how Minho has been clutching his side before. He looks up, meeting the older boy’s eyes and his stomach flips. Gentle. It’s hard to look like this after being beaten up but it’s exactly like that—Minho looks gentle. 

Jisung clears his throat. “And your—?” he points to his abdomen. “Did they hit you there, too?” 

Minho grimaces and reluctantly nods. Grabbing the hem of his black hoodie, he lifts it up a little, watching the blooming bruises along with. Jisung exhales a hiss.

“I don’t think I can help you with that. But when you come back home, you should put some ointment all over it.” Remembering what Minho told him a few weeks before in the library, Jisung carries on, “Because you have to go back home. I’m not here patching you up just so you can go and wander and once again…”

Minho stares at him for a moment in silence, before his mouth twists in a barely noticeable smile and he says. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do anything, but you still took care of me. I don’t say it often but I’m really grateful.” 

Jisung feels embarrassment creep up on him. So overwhelming that for a moment his common sense hides behind a hazy curtain, and without thinking, he says, “I’d do it for anyone. But it doesn’t matter—if you hate hospitals so bad and you’ll get beaten up in the future, you should at least let someone check your injuries and clean them, alright? Even if that person is me.” 

Minho doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. It’s so evident on his face that Jisung wonders if he hasn’t wiped off his I’m-Lee-Minho-and-nothing-can-touch-me mask with the hydrogen peroxide by accident. 

He turns his head, perplexed, but even though the words have left his mouth unexpectedly, Jisung realizes he doesn’t regret them.

“I’m serious,” he adds for a better measure, though he doesn’t think Minho will bother to ring the bell on Jisung’s door and ask to treat his wounds. They aren’t that close. If they are close at all. 

Jisung stuffs the rest of the bandage and hydrogen peroxide into the pocket of his hoodie, then stands up and stretches his body, sore from sitting on the ground. He picks up the used cotton pads and walks away to throw them into a garbage can. As he turns back, Minho is standing on his own; his bandaged hands are shoved into his pockets and Jisung eyes him and ends up relieved that none of his wounds are bleeding. 

They stand there for a moment, staring at each other with visible embarrassment until Jisung’s phone starts ringing in the back pocket of his jeans. With a sigh, he takes the call from Hyunjin.

“Where are you? We’re sitting in your living room, and you’re not even here,” he hears from the other side.

Jisung frowns because they didn’t make any plans, but a moment later he can already feel his muscles loosen up. It seems like a perfect opportunity—Jisung feels a great need to spend a nice night with his friends after such a stressful event as helping Minho come back to life.

“Uh—yeah, I’ll be home soon. I just—I went on a walk,” he mumbles. He’s still looking at Minho so he sees the corners of the boy’s mouth twitch upward. Soon after, Hyunjin hangs up, but despite Jisung’s need to cuddle his friends, he doesn’t rush home.

“So… I’m your dirty little secret now?”

Because of this entire strange situation they’ve found themselves in, Jisung almost forgets that Minho likes to play with him. So he only rolls his eyes so as not to give him satisfaction, not bothering to reply. It’s a never-ending cycle. 

Jisung takes a few steps back, but doesn’t turn his back on Minho yet.

“Wash your face once again when you get back home,” he says instead. “And put band-aids on tomorrow. Not today. The injuries need some air.”

“Understood, doctor Han.” 

Lee Minho is impossible. In every single possible fucking way, he’s driving Jisung absolutely crazy; makes him want to run far, far away. But when his eyes look so gentle in the golden hue of the street light, Jisung can’t help but think that Minho might be something more than a pretty face and fights in the dark corners of the city. But he can’t bring himself to admit that he wants to know what ‘more’ means. Not yet. 

When Jisung arrives home that evening, upon entering the doorway, he already feels all the energy draining from him as if by magic. He shuts the front door close behind him with a thud and relaxes upon hearing his friends’ laughter coming from the living room.

He kicks his shoes off, not bothering to put them onto the shoe rack, then—hood still over his head—marches into the living area. His friends scream when they see him, but Jisung feels too weary to be able to put their squeals together and make sense of them. He just throws himself on the couch and shoves his face into the pillow, letting the hydrogen peroxide bottle he still has in his pocket unpleasantly dig into his stomach.

Jisung feels a hand rubbing his back, gently stroking and patting. Jisung lifts his head just enough to see Felix’s slight smile, then lowers it back to the sofa. His friends don’t ask him questions. They go back to talking through their previous topic, giving Jisung some space. 

Seungmin, sitting on the floor, pushes Jisung’s favorite crisps to his mouth; Jisung must refrain from muttering that he wants to marry Seungmin here and now. He would. 

Jisung just really loves his friends. Their good moments, those filled with happiness, laughter and stupid jokes. The fights and irritation and biting remarks. Jisung loves their outings to the city, walks and sunrises; loves the food they cook together sometimes and the way they share basically everything. Jisung loves how they can all somehow sense if someone’s not feeling at their best and always leave some space to breathe. 

Just by looking at them out of the corner of his eye, Jisung feels the pleasant warmth spread all over his insides. He smiles to himself. It’s nice. 

It gets even nicer; Felix takes the hood off Jisung’s head to tangle his fingers into Jisung’s hair, running them through it and scratching his scalp. 

Jisung doesn’t know why he’s so reluctant to tell them what happened tonight. Sometimes he just overall doesn’t really understand what’s going on in his mind. He’s convinced his friends are wondering about everything; they might be guessing. But Jisung knows them too well to think they’ll pry; too well to think they’ll force any confession out of him.

Jisung is going to tell them. He is, but first he needs to think what even there is to say. 

“I don’t know if they’ll manage,” Hyunjin says, voice higher than usual, snapping Jisung out of his thoughts. 

Jisung shifts, unceremoniously resting his hand on Felix’s lap and looking up to send him a smile. 

Seungmin sneers. “The principal will surely get a nice sum of money to make things happen.” 

“What are you guys talking about?” Jisung interrupts. The boys immediately turn their eyes to look at him, but he’s too busy staring at the ceiling to notice.

“About the winter field trip. Hyunjin’s saying they’d already announce it if they were to even organize it,” Felix tells him, carding fingers through Jisung’s hair. “But they could’ve pushed it back. Do you seriously think Hyewon would pass up the chance to uphold her _Best School Trips Planner_ title?” 

Their chuckles echo off the walls of Jisung’s spacious living room. Felix is exaggerating, of course he is, but Hyewon always wants to please everyone when it comes to trips. It’s widely known throughout the school that if she’s the one organizing something, there’s absolutely zero chance of disappointment.

Jisung went on a school trip only once. He remembers that they were at the seaside then, but spent a lot of time sightseeing every possible thing they could. However, he didn’t like that anyone could sign up. You just have to behave well, so being invisible is enough. This guarantees awkward moments full of strangers who may—at most—flash somewhere in front of your eyes in the school hallway.

“If it really happens, my parents will make me go. If only to spy on the ski resorts competition,” Hyunjin huffs. Seungmin rolls his eyes, kicking him in the shin. Not enough for it to hurt, but Hyunjin still throws himself onto the floor like he’s dying. “Jisung, I’m going to live on your carpet whether you want it or not.” 

Jisung wouldn’t even oppose it. It would mean not spending his days alone in an empty house; and that’s a good thing. However, Jisung only sends Hyunjin a crooked smile and reaches for the packet of crisps lying next to him, shoving a handful into his mouth. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Minho isn’t really a fan of birthdays. 

It’s strangers wishing him the best things, as if they’ve known each other half their lives. It’s money transferred to his bank account without a single word from his parents. It’s another day overflowing with false kindness.

If he could, Minho would exchange it all for a single day of undisturbed peace.

He picks up the phone and sighs at the few messages already in his inbox. At the top is a message from Momo, filled with tons of colorful emoticons, as if she knew when Minho would wake up and wanted to make sure he reads her message first. Still, it brings a smile to his face.

Before he can read the rest of the message, the door to his room cracks open with hesitance. Kyungmin first sticks his head inside but when sees that Minho is no longer sleeping, he lunges in a run to jump onto his bed. Minho refrains from moaning in pain as the boy stabs his elbow right into his bruised abdomen. That’s only going to make it last longer. 

“Happy birthday, Minnie!” his brother yells right into his face. Minho ignores the pain with the last bits of strength and lets his lips curl up in a smile. His hand goes to Kyungmin’s head and he tenderly runs fingers through the boy’s hair. “I got you a gift! I made it myself! Yujin didn’t help me at all!” 

Minho straightens up and leans against the wall, nodding his head with a smile. Kyungmin will have to learn to lie well if he’s to live in the same house with their parents. Though they don’t see them most of the time anyway; maybe he won’t need to at all. 

“Thanks, Kyungie,” Minho tells him, taking the self-made card from his brother’s hands. 

Right in the center is a cake cut out of colorful paper, and a little higher lie crooked letters forming the words ‘Happy Birthday !!!!!!’. Hearts, dots, stars and shapes that Minho can’t name are drawn everywhere, with all possible colors. After opening, he sees even more drawings inside and what is probably supposed to be his image. 

Minho doesn’t even try to hide his wide smile. It’s heart-warming.

“With such huge talent you just really gotta become an artist. What do you think?” 

“And I’ll be called Leecasso!” 

Minho erupts in giggles. Kyungmin then states that Minho is mean for making fun of him, but Minho only ruffles his brother’s hair and scrambles out of the bed, allowing his Kyungmin to stay there a little longer.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Minho examines his reflection. His wounds from a few nights ago are hardly visible anymore, and he wonders if Jisung has any magical healing powers.

It is a miracle that all these injuries—those he hasn’t treated or those Chan made him clean—don’t leave any scars. Minho is happy about that. He likes his face; he likes it very much.

He snorts under his breath. Cold shower that he completes his morning routine brings him back to life.

When he returns to his bedroom, Kyungmin isn’t buried in his covers anymore. Minho assumes that Yujin—his babysitter—has already taken him to school, so he dresses up, grabs the car keys from his desk and leaves the house.

Ride to school is quite alright. It’s getting colder outside, so Minho turns up the heating and hums the song playing on the radio, swaying and bobbing his head to the rhythm. Changbin is waiting for him in the parking lot, leaning against the mask of his black Corolla. Minho parks next to him, and as soon as he gets out of his car, his friend shoves a cupcake with a pink candle stuck in the middle into his face.

“Happy birthday, kitty.”

Minho rolls his eyes but obediently closes his eyes, thinking about a wish. When he opens them again, a passing group of students draws his attention. It must be fate—the way his eyes fly to Jisung like he’s the only person left in the world. Stupid. It’s also very stupid.

Minho reluctantly shifts his gaze back to the cupcake and takes a deep breath, blowing the candle out.

“Finally! I thought my arm was gonna fall off,” Changbin blurts out with pretend annoyance. 

Minho only smacks his shoulder with a slight smile wandering across his lips. He takes the cupcake to split it in half and give one to Changbin, shoving the other into his mouth. 

They stroll towards the school through the courtyard and when they reach the front door, Changbin speaks again. “I know you don’t like gifts but, you know, a part is theoretically not a gift.” 

Minho rolls his eyes, knowing well this conversation would be happening. And how can he even say no to Changbin? He can’t—Changbin can ask him for anything, Minho will do what he can to help him.

Even if it’s something as silly as a party.

They’ve been through too much together for anything other than consent to leave Minho’s mouth. So he nods, then pushes the door, letting Changbin in first. 

Just the thought of their first meeting is enough to make him want to laugh.

They were still kids, but Minho already understood that his parents were manipulative, so he got into trouble to make their lives a little bit miserable. When he ran away from home one day, he saw two high school students harassing a younger boy in one of the alleys. The kid didn’t seem very scared, pretty much the opposite—he was looking at them with mockery, and his eyes lit up with provocation. 

But it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to beat two older guys anyway, no matter how hard he tried. Minho felt the adrenaline rush through his veins, and he wasn’t sure when he shouted, “What are you two losers doing?” and then sided with the boy. It was weird. And maybe they both got beaten up, but the two highschoolers also went home battered. The best reward, that actually seemed to magically heal the stinging wounds on young Minho’s face, was Changbin’s friendship.

“I’ll take care of everything,” Changbin says, snapping him out of thought. Minho nods, though he isn’t sure what this is about. Changbin knows it, of course he does, and elbows him in the side. “The party. You just have to come, alright?” 

“Alright. Just don’t go overboard and don’t invite half of the school,” Minho reminds. “I don’t want a re-run of last year.”

“You’ve beaten up people to bloody pulps yet you still almost went to jail just because some old hag couldn’t sleep because of loud music,” Changbin snickers. 

They stop at his locker to take out the only notebook he has, then head to Minho’s across the hallway. Someone Minho doesn’t know comes up to utter a hesitant “Happy Birthday” and then runs away before Minho can even answer. Changbin considers it the funniest thing ever and says he’s looking forward to more of it. Minho doesn’t really share his enthusiasm.

Right before history class, Momo grabbed his face to plan kisses over his cheeks. “I chose the creamiest lipstick I have to make it difficult to wash off. Happy birthday, baby!” 

If she wasn’t his best friend, Minho would have yelled at her by now. If she was a man, he would have beat her up long ago. But Momo is a woman—and Minho doesn’t touch women—and is actually one of the few people who sincerely love him. She doesn’t have to say it often for Minho to know. In this, they are quite alike—in showing affection and maintaining relationships. Maybe that’s why they get along so well.

Minho initially plans to scrape the red lipstick off his cheeks by any means necessary, but when he stares into the mirror in the school restroom, he can’t bring himself to. He isn’t even slightly embarrassed with Momo’s lip prints adorning his face. Quite the contrary—he feels warmth spreading all over his body at the mere thought of showing everyone that, _yes_ , there’s indeed someone in this world whose affection Lee Minho isn’t rejecting. 

One of the stalls opens. In the bathroom mirror, Minho meets Jisung’s gaze; he looks very surprised to see Minho there. Is it that unusual to use the school restroom? Minho doesn’t because it’s gross and dirty and smells but, hey, sometimes he just needs a quick glance into the mirror.

Jisung’s eyes hook on the red lip prints on Minho’s cheeks, but only for a moment so short Minho thinks he might’ve imagined it—when he blinks, Jisung is already by the sink, thoroughly washing his hands. 

Minho continues to look at him, never taking his eyes off him for a second. Jisung sighs as he wipes his hands with a paper towel. He turns to face Minho with fatigue clearly painted on his face.

“Has no one ever told you that staring at people is weird?” 

Minho bites back a mischievous smile. However, it doesn’t escape Jisung’s attention; he fumbles but remains in the same place. Someone comes out of one of the stalls and gives them a funny look, but upon noticing that it’s them, they rush out of the bathroom as if Minho and Jisung will chase them down. 

“I don’t know why you think my only life purpose is to annoy you but you’re wrong,” Minho tells him, tilting his head to the side.

Jisung raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “It’s hard to think any different if you’ve been showing since the very beginning that the only thing you care about is using me to make a splash.”

Minho looks away and chooses a point on the bathroom wall behind Jisung to persistently stare right there. “I don’t care about that,” he says bitterly, but Jisung only scoffs, pointing a finger at Minho’s cheek. 

“Really?” 

Minho doesn’t feel like and even less so is obliged to explain anything to Jisung. So he lets Jisung turn around sharply and approach the door, but when his hand is on the doorknob, Minho asks, “Are you coming to my party?” 

It’s silly, but Minho swallows down the embarrassment. Jisung looks over his shoulder and pauses before answering.

“I wouldn’t come to a party that celebrites an asshole like you.”

Minho doesn’t really feel offended or hurt, but an unpleasant feeling arises in his stomach as Jisung slams the door behind him.

Jisung is very emotional, Minho notes. He thinks he’s excellent at hiding behind a mask, but he isn’t. Either that or Minho is just a master at reading him.

Therefore, Minho lets out a chuckle. Jisung is hoping to scare him off; he’s hoping Minho will just walk away like that and won’t look back, leaving him alone.

But Minho likes him. Minho likes to spite people, so, if Jisung wants him to leave him be so much, Minho won’t. Not so easily. 

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Jisung’s annoyed expression as he returns from the restroom to the cafeteria doesn’t escape his friends’ attention. Given his recent behavior, they ask no questions about the source of his irritation; Jeongin, however, mumbles something under his breath.

“What are you guys talking about?” Jisung asks, stealing a bunch of curly fries out of Seungmin’s lunchbox. It’s cold, but if Seungmin doesn’t mind, Jisung doesn’t, either. 

“Oh, right!” Felix calls. “Hyunjin got invited to Changbin’s party this Saturday! Get it, Jisung? Changbin’s!” 

Jisung freezes.

“He’s talking to Minho. I don’t think Seo Changbin can impress him,” Seungmin points out with an eyebrow raised. 

Hyunjin, across the table, giggles nervously and Jisung realizes why this is such a sensation. Hyunjin must like Changbin. That’s the easiest explanation.

Jisung puts on a smile and steals more fries from Seungmin so he doesn’t have to look at anyone. 

At least that way, he doesn’t have to tell them he got _indirectly_ invited, too. They definitely wouldn’t let him live. He’d have to tell them—they always want to go so badly and this time is no different, so it’d only be fair for them to use his invitation. But since Hyunjin also got one, the problem is solved. 

Maybe fate doesn’t hate Jisung _that_ much. 

“Come on, tell him how it happened!” Felix nudges Hyunjin, most likely making him repeat the story for the millionth time.

Seungmin and Jeongin groan, making their suffering very clear. Jisung, wanting to spare them the torture like a good friend that he is, tells them to go buy something from the vending machine, and that he’ll pay them back later. He doesn’t even have to repeat himself—it just seems like he blinks and they’re gone.

Hyunjin giggles as Felix props his chin on his hand in anticipation, even though he heard the story just a moment ago. 

“We were supposed to have P.E. outside but when we got there, the upperclassmen were already there,” Hyunjin begins. Jisung nods, trying to focus with all of him. “Teachers decided it’s a good idea to just join groups, so we were just switching on the field. And when mine and Changbin’s teams were waiting for our turn in the stands, he sat next to me and said something like... ‘ _Hey, I’m throwing a party this Saturday. It’d be nice if you came_ ’.” 

Jisung chokes a laugh because of the way Hyunjin tries to imitate Changbin’s voice. He slaps a hand over his mouth; Felix gives him an equally amused look from the other side of the table.

“He also said I can take you guys, so this time you’re not getting away,” Hyunjin adds, voice more stern. Jisung grimaces but he decides he _will_ find a way to get away before Saturday. “But all of this—Do you understand that I almost fell under the stands and died right there? If you saw him, Jisung—Fuck, if you saw him!” 

Jisung doesn’t know what to say, though, so he only forces a smile and glances longingly at the cafeteria door, hoping that Jeongin and Seungmin won’t leave him here to _die_.

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Jisung tries to avoid Minho for the next few days. He isn’t quite sure why—because their dumb conversation in the school restroom isn’t enough to make him angry—but when he wakes up in the morning it seems like a pretty good idea.

His parents came from Toronto for a few days, but he doesn’t see them often. They usually sit in their study or in the living room, basically drowning in all the papers, and he knows better than to disturb them. On the second day of their return, they had a silent dinner together, during which they only spoke to ask familiar questions Jisung always expects to hear from them—“Are you doing well at school?”, “Do you have enough money for this month?”, “Wouldn’t it be better if we hired housekeeping for the entire week? You could just focus on studying, then.” Jisung only smiled, and if only his parents paid attention, they’d see his lips dripping with pretend. 

When Jisung returns home on Thursday night, his parents are already gone. He kicks his shoes off with disappointment, then lunges on the sofa in the living room and hides his face in the cushion. Jisung can’t even remember the last time he saw them for more than a week.

It’s stupid because he knows that not only his parents are on endless business trips. However, his friends always receive phone calls, messages, and stupid souvenirs from all over the world. And Jisung? Jisung has to settle for identical dinners once a month and single mornings when his parents leave for work later than usual.

He lets out a bitter laugh. Jisung’s probably grown up enough not to cry, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s not fine with all of this. He wants things to change; he wants to keep in touch with his parents. He wants something other than to feel like they don’t give a damn about him. 

Jisung turns on his stomach and takes the vibrating phone out of his pocket. His friends are spamming in the group chat, but it seems as if his brain’s logical processing skills have shut off because Jisung can’t understand anything they’re saying. His head throbs. Jisung squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and takes a deep breath.

Why does everything seem so hard lately?

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Jisung doesn’t feel well.

His cheeks are pinker than usual, his head is cracking as if someone is hitting him with a hammer every now and then, and his hands are trembling so much that he has a hard time holding anything. 

With a vision of a car crash in his head that he would surely cause, Jisung heads to the bus stop and lets the woolen scarf protect him from the piercing cold.

He has no idea what happened—Jisung woke up on the couch in the living room that morning, with the fire fading in the fireplace. He barely made it a few steps to the kitchen because his legs failed to obey him. It’s a miracle he didn’t fall and hit his head. Another disadvantage of being home alone—who the hell would even help him?

However, Jisung can’t afford to be absent from school, so he took a bunch of pills and shoved a few blister packs into his bag, praying to survive today.

As soon as he crosses the threshold of the class, Seungmin is immediately next to him and leads him to their table with a worried look. Jisung doesn’t even know how he managed to get to the classroom without falling down the stairs. It’s already such a successful day! 

They attract a few inquisitive glances as Seungmin sits him down, but Jisung feels too dead to care. 

“You look like death,” his friend concludes. Jisung uses the last of his strength to glare, but he must look _very harmless_ —Seungmin doesn’t look like he gives a damn. “You should be lying in bed and drinking tea and doing nothing else. Absolutely nothing else. What were you even thinking?”

Having just entered the classroom, Felix immediately pushes his cup of hot tea from the vending machine under Jisung’s nose after seeing him. “Drink, Sung-ah.” 

Jisung obediently grabs the hot paper cup. Seungmin must notice his cold hands shaking as he holds the cup to his mouth and shakes his head, scolding.

He knows they aren’t angry with him because he’s sick, but they always complain when Jisung, despite feeling bad—or even terrible—comes to school anyway. Jisung himself would prefer to lie in bed wrapped in his blanket like a cocoon, but the displeased and disappointed expressions on his parents’ faces he sees in his imagination are too paralyzing for him to just skip school. 

Seungmin tells him to just listen in class and do nothing else, and preferably just try to sleep. He doubts that in such a state, Jisung is even able to concentrate enough to understand anything.

Classes pass like a blur because Jisung feels absent most of the time. With a mask on his face, he tries to protect other students from getting sick, too, and from being forced to look at his ailing face. During each break, his friends bring him something warm to drink and make sure that he’s always warm. If Jisung wasn’t sick, he’d kiss each of them as a thank you.

During the lunch break, instead of going to the cafeteria, Jisung decides to go to the library and curl in one of the armchairs to try to sleep in peace and quiet for at least half an hour. He has to clutch the railing coming up, and the other students send him sympathetic looks. Does he really look that bad?

He rolls his eyes, slowly dragging his way to his favorite, lonely little corner of the library. Jisung’s glad that he doesn’t see anyone there and turns off the lights, letting the lighting of another part of the library cast a warm glow at him. He throws the hood over his head and immediately curls in himself, sitting down in the armchair. It might not be a dream come true when it comes to comfort, but it’s still better than sitting on a stiff bench in a noisy cafeteria.

Someone’s flipping the pages of a book a few shelves away, and the silent footsteps bounce off the library walls, but Jisung is fine with all the white noise. Footsteps get louder, and then suddenly come to a stop. Jisung doesn’t open his eyes. Maybe they’ve finally found a place for themself and won’t disturb him anymore. 

“Jisung?”

Of, fucking, course.

Jisung squeezes his eyes tighter, trying to ignore him. Maybe he’s just hallucinating, maybe painkillers are causing delusions, and Minho isn’t really standing there saying his name in the softest way Jisung can imagine. 

“Are you alright?” 

This time he can hear the voice closer, as if Minho took a few soft, inaudible steps, closing the distance between them. Jisung dares to open his eyes and blinks, trying to get rid of the haze. 

When he doesn’t answer, Minho approaches once more, this time crouching next to the armchair where Jisung is curled up. Their eyes meet; Minho then blinks as if seeing Jisung like this isn’t on top of his ‘One Thousand and One Things Minho Doesn't Expect in His Life’ list, either. 

Jisung pulls his sweatshirt further over his knees and looks away, suddenly feeling uncertain. The last time they saw each other, he said some bad stuff, and Jisung doesn’t like being mean. Even if he thinks someone deserves it. After all, fire can’t be fought with fire.

“Are you sick?” Minho asks but Jisung doesn’t answer. He can feel the irritation bubbling in his stomach, though. Can’t Minho see how he looks? “Have you eaten anything today?”

Jisung doesn’t remember. He knows he’s drunk a lot—his friends have been taking care of it, but food has been of secondary importance. Jisung doesn’t even feel hungry; with the suffocating lump and an itchy sensation in his throat, he doesn’t think he can swallow anything.

Jisung shakes his head in response and Minho sighs as if he cares. 

“Just wait here, okay?” 

Well, it’s not like Jisung is going somewhere. It’s Minho who stormed in and started asking stupid questions. All Jisung needs is for him to go away, leave him alone and let him sleep. 

As Minho’s footsteps recede and fade away, Jisung squeezes his eyes shut again. He hopes the older boy won’t be coming back.

But he’s wrong, Jisung is so very wrong, because perhaps only a few minutes of silence is enough for the door to slam open and for a pleasant smell to spread in the air. Jisung straightens up, but is still in the chair. He hears Minho’s heavy boots echoing off the floor and swears in his mind.

Fate must really hate him.

Jisung opens one eye and clears his throat, preparing his tense vocal cords to scream at Minho, but he doesn’t, in the end. His mouth hangs open in surprise and Jisung can’t utter a word when he finally sees Minho. 

He looks at Jisung for a moment, then walks over and crouches down next to the armchair again to ask, “Do you feel like eating?”

Thoughts swarm into Jisung’s tired mind. Blood thumps in his ears. All possible explanations and excuses come to his mind, but he can’t put any of the pieces together into a sensible whole.

Minho brought him instant ramen. Minho must’ve gone to the store nearby to buy Jisung instant ramen. Minho prepared and brought it to school for Jisung to eat. For no fucking reason. 

“No food in the library,” Jisung breathes out, voice hoarse from not speaking for a long time; his words sound weak, too. He hopes Minho will take it for his sickness. 

But Minho rolls his eyes. “Let’s make an exception.” 

Jisung feels something tugging at his heart; something tickling his lower abdomen and easing his headache and sending thousands of pleasant impulses to his brain. Minho looks at him as usual, maybe more gently. A barely noticeable smile wanders across his lips, and Jisung can’t help but notice the already faded wounds he treated not so long ago.

He stretches his legs, but after sitting all day, his knees buckle as he takes a step forward. Minho grabs his arm out of nowhere, holding him upright. He helps Jisung to sit down at the table, then he takes the seat across from him and slides the cup full of steaming noodles over the table. Jisung feels like a little child.

“Eat,” Minho tells him. 

Jisung feels his cheeks warming up, but it’s easier to blame the rising fever for making him red in the face. He clutches at the chopsticks and leans over the cup, letting the pleasant warmth envelop his face. Even if he didn’t feel hungry before, just by looking at the food he suddenly feels like eating. 

Jisung’s hands are still trembling and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Minho watching him as if he’s ready to react at any moment and feed Jisung himself. The thought is so preposterous that Jisung tries his best to control the shaking of his hands to keep Minho from getting close to him. 

As Jisung eats, he ignores Minho’s persistent gaze at him. Leaning against the back of the chair with his hands on the table, Minho is playing with his fingers but doesn’t spare them a single glance. His eyes are fixed on Jisung, as if he can’t even bring himself to look at anything other than him. 

Jisung’s breath hitches. When he finishes eating, with his throat dry and sore, he manages to mumble, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t know if these two words are enough. Minho didn’t have to do absolutely nothing for him; especially since Jisung clearly didn’t ask him for help. 

Everything is just messing with his head. Thoughts confusing, mixing and swirling in his mind, Jisung can’t decipher any of them. What the hell does this all mean?

Minho raises the corners of his mouth in a smile similar to the ones Jisung has been seeing more and more on him. Uncertain but gentle. To be honest, it suits him better than the mocking ones he usually gives everyone. 

“Why would you do it?” Jisung asks, not being able to tone down his curiosity anymore. He decides to vent it; allows the mask to peel off his face in the spur of the moment.

Minho doesn’t answer instantly. And when he finally opens his mouth to speak, the bell rings and interrupts him; for the first time in forever, Minho doesn’t seem annoyed. He grabs the paper cup, empty after Jisung’s eaten, and says, “I hope you get better by tomorrow.” 

Before Jisung can ask what he means by that, Minho stands up and disappears behind the shelves. Jisung sinks back into the chair, tired, and takes a deep breath, then slowly stands up and stretches. He grimaces as his bones crack, but staggers to the armchair and drags his bag over his shoulder. 

Jisung can feel his cheeks burning as he walks towards the literature classroom, but this time he’s not sure if he can blame it on the fever.

His friends—of course—greet him with a cup of hot coffee from the vending machine as soon as he takes his seat. Jisung doesn’t mention the strange gift from Minho when they ask if he managed to rest during his break; Jisung only replies that the chairs in the library are oddly comfortable.

“It’s good that there’s only this period left and you can go home,” Felix tells him, running fingers through Jisung’s hair over the table. When the teacher comes into the classroom and shushes them, his hand lingers when he’s turning around and warning, “And I swear, I’m facetiming you to check if you’re lying in bed,” over his shoulder. 

Jisung can’t help but smile. He raises his hand and pats Felix on the back in a gesture of thanks and whispers that as soon as he comes home, he’ll go take a shower and disappear under a bunch of blankets. 

After the lesson, Hyunjin offers to take Jisung home. He says his driver won’t mind, and he has no intention of letting Jisung use the crowded and dirty bus. Jisung doesn’t have the strength to make any other gesture—and to disagree about the buses, because they really are gross- so he smiles at Hyunjin in thanks.

“I know you probably don’t wanna go to the party even more now that you’re sick, but if you changed your mind…” Hyunjin trails off when they’re on their way to Jisung’s house. Jisung turns to face him from where he was looking out of the window and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, I know, but it’s always the same. Felix has Chan wrapped around his finger so they’re sitting together with some other people. Seung and Innie always disappear somewhere and I’m left alone.”

Jisung bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t wanna third wheel when you’re making out with Changbin.” _And I don’t wanna see Minho._

“I’m not going to be making out with him!” Hyunjin exclaims; because of his ears dusted red, Jisung only grows more convinced that this is exactly his plan. “I’m begging. I won’t leave your side not even for a second. It’s seriously not even that loud in there. And not many people get invited, either.” 

When Hyunjin looks at him with those huge eyes, pleading gaze intensifying every second, Jisung can’t refuse him. He lets out a sigh. “If I feel better tomorrow—Hey, listen! If I feel better tomorrow, then alright. But I’m out if you leave me alone.” 

Hyunjin starts nodding so vigorously that Jisung thinks he might get a concussion. His face lights up with a broad smile that only makes Jisung wonder if just agreeing to go to the party seriously made him so happy.

Arriving at his house, Jisung thanks the driver and says goodbye to Hyunjin, promising to text him later. However, as soon as he crosses the gate, he puts his phone on complete mute, and after entering the house, he leaves it in the kitchen and marches to the bathroom by himself.

Jisung stands in the shower for a long time, enough for his skin to wrinkle in that funny way that always made him feel like a grandpa when he was a child, hoping that hot water will wash the sickness out of him. 

He has to admit that after changing into freshly washed clothes and slipping under a fluffy duvet, Jisung immediately feels better. He smiles blissfully and closes his eyes, surrounding himself with the longed-for sleep with utmost pleasure.

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Jisung wakes up around noon. Staying in bed for a long time, he lets the warm rays of autumn sunshine paint him golden through the carelessly closed blinds. He can’t remember the last time he slept for this long.

When Jisung finally gets out of bed, he feels remarkably well-rested. His throat is still scratchy and he has to grab the doorframe, suddenly feeling dizzy but he’s actually much better than the day before.

As he ambles to the kitchen, Jisung remembers that he left his phone there. He accelerates and snatches it off the countertop right away, sitting down in the bar stool. At the top of his screen there’s a notification of several missed calls from Felix, and below a message that says, “I hope you didn’t die,” with a pleading face emoji. The last call came only a few minutes ago, so Jisung decides to call back.

“You’re alive, Sleeping Beauty?” he hears from the other side. Even only hearing Felix’s voice, Jisung knows he’s smiling. He can feel his heart thumping, making him warm all over.

Felix is like a good fairy, like a ray of sunshine lurking behind the clouds, timid; he’s like a sip of hot chocolate on a cold evening. Felix is the embodiment of kindness and love. Jisung adores it about him, but at the same time has a hard time believing Felix is real. 

“Sorry for not picking up. I left my phone downstairs and went to sleep right away.”

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m glad you’ve been resting. Have you eaten anything?” Felix asks. 

Jisung shakes his head but only a moment later realizes Felix can’t actually see him. “No, not yet. I just woke up.” 

“Can I come over? My parents told me and Jeongin to get some fresh air ‘cause we’ve been playing the League all night long again. Tragic.”

Jisung holds back the laughter when Felix lets out a dramatic sigh. He can actually use some company; especially if it’s his friends. “Yeah, sure. You know the gate code.”

“Okay! We’ll bring something to eat! See ya.”

Felix hangs up before Jisung can’t even say goodbye. He shakes his head with a smile and puts his phone back on the countertop. There’s no sense in making anything to eat, since his friends are going to take care of that. Jisung jumps off the stool and trots to the living room. He sits down on the couch, covers himself with a soft blanket and turns on the TV to kill boredom while waiting for Felix and Jeongin. They both live nearby, and since Jeongin is already at Felix’s, they should be arriving soon.

Jisung’s watching a rerun of some series, but doesn’t really pay too much attention to the plot. Lately, school has exhausted him to such an extent that he doesn’t have much time for hobbies. Sitting in front of the TV carefree is weird.

At one point, Jisung goes to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and when he’s pouring boiling water into his favorite mug, he hears the front door open. Whispers echo through the house, even though Felix and Jeongin seem to be trying very hard to remain silent.

“Be quiet! He might be sleeping!” 

Despite how cute it is, Jisung decides to put a stop to their efforts. “I'm in the kitchen!” he calls.

Their footsteps echo on the marble floors. Felix’s face lights up right away; he runs, wraps his arms around Jisung’s waist and rests his chin on his shoulder as Jisung stirs his tea. 

“Do you want some?” Jisung asks, nodding toward his mug. 

“I’ll make it. You go sit,” Jeongin suggests. 

Felix reluctantly pulls away from Jisung, but doesn’t need to be told twice; they immediately march to the living room. Sitting on the floor around the coffee table, Jisung keeps his hands wrapped around the warm mug. 

“Feeling any better?” 

Jisung nods. “Yeah, a lot. I guess it’s all because I’ve been just really tired lately.”

“Maybe. But you do look a lot more… lively.” Felix sends him a wry smile. 

Jeongin then shows up in the living room and, apart from the two mugs in his hands, has a paper bag from the restaurant hanging on his wrist. He sits down next to them and unpacks the food onto the coffee table; Jisung feels the hunger he had been restraining returning to him with redoubled power.

They barely talk while eating; instead they focus on a rerun of an episode of a new drama that is currently on TV. Jeongin, however, can’t help but make _malicious_ comments towards the male lead, saying he’s stupid and basically useless in the show; he seems even more outraged with each subsequent scene. Jisung and Felix just exchange amused glances.

A long time after they have finished eating, Jisung offers to throw away all the trash they left behind. He puts everything in the paper bag Jeongin brought the food in, then dumps it in the kitchen trash bin and returns to his friends, only to find them staring into their phones.

“What’s up?” he asks, intrigued. 

“Hyunjin is going through a crisis. He’s asking what to wear to the party,” Jeongin tells him. 

Right. The party. 

Jisung takes his own phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants, then opens their group chat. It’s true—Hyunjin sent several different outfits that the rest responded to with emojis. Honestly, Jisung thinks Hyunjin looks good in everything, so he only chooses the outfit with the most hearts and writes: “Whatever you wear, you’ll look amazing.” 

“Oh, Jisung,” Felix coos upon seeing his message. Jisung only rolls his eyes and, when his phone chims with a message, he looks back at the screen. 

**HYUNJIN:** wanna see me look amazing irl? 

**JISUNG:** are you asking if i’m coming? 

**HYUNJIN:** awh you know me so well <3

Jisung lets out a sigh. He knows what it all means, knows what it’s tied to; he’s all too aware. Awareness seems to be peeking through every of his windows, knocking on every door. No matter how much Jisung tries to ignore it, it’s just impossible. 

So he answers with a short “yes” and puts his phone on the coffee table, not checking it anymore. When Felix and Jeongin shoot him curious looks having read his message, Jisung just says, “It’s your fault. If you partied together, I wouldn’t be needed there.” 

Felix nods but he doesn’t look too convinced. “I’m glad, seriously. You’ll have fun, Sung, you’ll see!”

Jisung doesn’t intend to drink. His head is still throbbing and his sickness hasn’t magically evaporated. And someone needs to keep an eye on them and then drive them home. Maybe they can even stay at his place for the night—it’ll be much easier. When Jisung voices his thoughts out, his friends both agree and they get the same responses from Hyunjin and Seungmin in the group chat, so it’s settled. 

As the night is falling, Jeongin and Felix go back to their houses. They agreed that Jisung would just pick them up later. 

When they leave, Jisung climbs the stairs and marches to his room. As he passes the mirror, he winces at his own reflection. He should take a shower. Jisung is still dressed in sweatpants and a thick hoodie, and he sweated a lot during a fever-filled night; it feels gross. 

Warm water hugs his body as he rubs the cherry gel into his skin. Jisung tilts her head back and flutters his eyes shut for a moment. Despite his anxiety about going to the party, when he’s standing in the shower, he can feel all the worries evaporating from him. It’s a weird state and Jisung knows everything will come back; but for this short moment, he enjoys himself. 

Jisung dries his hair with a dowel, deciding to use the dryer later anyway, and then—with a towel draped over his hips—heads back to his bedroom. Standing in front of the closet, he sighs. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to wear. 

It’s not like Jisung wants to doll up. However, he doesn’t want to look bad, or to look worse than others—he feels like everyone will definitely come to Lee Minho’s birthday party dressed up like they’re going to a gala for some celebrities.

Jisung tilts his head to the side. He has no idea what the dress code might be at a party like this. 

He recalls the photos Hyunjin sent in the group chat and decides it might be good to get inspired by them. Jisung sweeps another gaze over the inside of his closet, then takes a deep breath. It’s embarrassingly stupid to even think so much about such simple things.

Tight black pants, a patterned, colorful short-sleeved shirt and a black turtleneck underneath. It’s the beginning of November and Jisung is still going through a sickness—he can’t really afford to make it worse. So he also takes his dark denim jacket off the hanger, and when he puts it all on, Jisung can actually say he’s pleased with the way he looks.

He still has a lot of time before he needs to leave. Hyunjin wants them to be “fashionably late” and instructed him to leave the house well after eight. As Jisung is going there for him only, he agreed without protest. He spends most of the time mindlessly scrolling through Instagram and immediately comes across Stories of people who are getting ready or are already at Changbin’s party. From the photos, Jisung concludes that it’s still calm and hopes it stays that way for the rest of the evening.

To be safe, he takes painkillers and puts the rest of the packet in his jacket pocket. Out of boredom, Jisung walks around the house and even goes out to the terrace.

The sky is dark but cloudy, and Jisung can see nothing more than a bunch of stars breaking through the fog. Freshly mown lawn smells nice, and cars passing through the gates fill his ears with static noise. The pool is uncovered—when his parents arrived a few weeks earlier, they told the housekeepers to clean it thoroughly and fill it with water. Jisung knows what that means.

Water is even more piercingly cold. Jisung instantly curls up; even though he can manage staying out in the chilly, evening air, going back inside seems like the best option after a short moment. 

Jisung returns to his bedroom to get his phone and notices Hyunjin sent him a message. “You can leave now!” written a few minutes ago, suddenly makes his heart skip. He can’t back down now, can he?

Jisung quickly makes his way to the bathroom and wraps himself in the sweet scent of his floral perfume, then shoots one last look in the mirror and takes a deep breath. It’s only one evening. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

He forces a smile, practicing it as he locks the house and gets into the car. There’s no need to be a party popper. Jisung doesn’t want to ruin anyone’s experience just because he’s not keen on partying. 

Jisung puts on one of the calmer playlists Seungmin put together and hums softly under his breath. He also makes sure that the gate is closed and the alarm is turned on before leaving the property, driving straight into an almost completely deserted road leading through his neighborhood. He picks up Felix and Jeongin first; they happily climb into the backseat and continue to show how excited they are just because Jisung is going with them. It’s nice to be wanted somewhere, he thinks. 

He has to take a detour to find himself in the wealthy neighborhood Hyunjin lives in, but his friend is standing outside the gate of his house, so they don’t have to wait for him. Hyunjin climbs into the passenger seat and sends Jisung a smile dripping with happiness and excitement. He immediately interrupts the boys’ conversation about something Jisung doesn’t know much about, so Jisung only smiles to himself and drives off towards the suburbs. Seungmin lives quite close to the address Hyunjin gave him, but Jisung insisted on giving him a ride anyway.

When everyone is inside and the car fills up with loud giggles and chuckles, Jisung feels a little better. His heart is still pounding with an unsteady rhythm and he’s pretty sure his hands are clammy and gross, but, as he looks at his friends in the rearview mirror, all bad feelings seem to fade away.

Jisung is uneasy as he drives into the huge yard of Changbin’s house. Lamps cast a warm glow at the modern villa, hung all around the property. He might not be an architecture expert, but the entire house looks amazing; Jisung wouldn’t be surprised if he found it on a cover of some magazine his parents like to read.

Hyunjin jumps out of the car, impatient. However, he waits for the rest to get out of the car before grabbing Jisung’s hand. “Don’t stress, huh? I’ll be with you all the time,” he tells him, voice soft.

Jisung glances over his shoulder at the rest of his friends, but they already stopped paying them attention.

He nods and is led to the front door. Hyunjin rings the bell, and after a while the door opens to let out loud music from inside. Seo Changbin stands in the doorway with a bottle of beer in his hand, and when his eyes find Hyunjin, he exclaims, “Oh, it’s you!”

Jisung feels like Changbin’s enthusiasm is not at all caused by the appearance of their _entire_ group (more like just one particular boy), but Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice.

Changbin lets them in and leads them down the long hall, initiating a small talk like a good host. At the end of the hall, a huge living room spreads out, and on both sides marble stairs curl up, leading to the second floor. Several people are standing by the railing, but Jisung doesn’t recognize any of them. 

Despite the colorful lights hanging around, most of the room is shrouded in darkness. Jisung looks around and notices an open patio door; moonlight shines through it, casting a silver glow on that side of the living area. Outside, lots of people are playing around the pool with drinks in hand. Some sway to the rhythm of the song blasting through the speakers, and others sit on the sun loungers, just talking.

When Jisung turns back to his friends, Felix and Jeongin are gone. He’s not sure if there is any point in looking for them in the crowd, so he focuses on Seungmin.

“Hyunjin went to get drinks from the kitchen,” he says.

Jisung raises his eyebrows. “With Changbin?” Seungmin answers with a nod. Pulling the sleeves of his sweater further over his palms, he sends Jisung a slight smile. 

“Wanna dance?” 

Jisung says yes, so Seungmin grabs him by the wrist and leads towards the middle of the living room; it’s become a makeshift dance floor for the night. They squeeze and push through a sea of other people; Seungmin keeps glancing over his shoulder to check if he didn’t accidentally lose Jisung in the crowd. (He must forget that their hands are still slotted together.) 

They get to the farther corner of the room where there’s much more space and they don’t have to worry whether they’ll get accidentally (or not) elbowed in the face. Jisung begins to move awkwardly to the beat, trying to imitate Seungmin (who’s actually shamelessly laughing at his efforts). He appreciates his friends not leaving him alone. Jisung also hopes Hyunjin will find and join them sooner or later. 

Jisung sweeps a glance over the room, but he can’t see him anywhere. More people are going out onto the patio, not even bothering to take their jackets. Apparently the alcohol has already made them feel warm enough to not care. 

The spacious living room is so dimmed that Jisung can barely recognize any of the familiar faces. People are having fun, most likely not realizing or not really caring about who they’re dancing with. Jisung shifts his eyes back to Seungmin; his friend keeps doing a move with his shoulders that Jisung feels embarrassed trying to mimic. 

“Is it really weird in here or is it just us?” Jisung yells, trying to make his voice louder than the music. Seungmin bursts out laughing, shaking his head. 

“We can go outside, if you wanna,” he tells Jisung, coming closer. He leans in to speak into Jisung’s ear; Seungmin’s breath tickles his skin. “Save us a spot. I’ll get you some juice, alright?”

Jisung obediently nods his head, but Seungmin turns around too quickly to actually acknowledge his answer. This time, he swiftly breaks through the thinning crowd, disappearing right before Jisung’s eyes. 

Jisung lets out a sigh that dies a silent death in the booming music. He doesn’t want to look like a total churl—putting on a friendly smile, he rests his hip against the frame of the glass door, looking around the yard. 

A huge pool is dug in the very centre, emanating cold light with the halogens in the walls and in the ground. Some of the partygoers are fooling around in the water, so Jisung can only assume it’s heated up. He recognizes Sana from his bio class and, even though he’s never talked to her, he feels a little brighter seeing a familiar face. 

She’s sitting on some guy’s shoulders, playing chicken fights, trying to push someone off the handsome guy’s shoulder (the one that sits next to Jisung in bio; another familiar face makes the party bearable). A bunch of people are sitting by the edge of the pool, cheering on the two couples. They draw attention with their screams. 

Jisung tears his eyes away and decides to sit in one of the lawn chairs. Seungmin shows up in the doorway a moment later, plopping down on the chair next to Jisung immediately after noticing him. He hands Jisung a cup of orange juice and, taking a sip, Jisung sends Seungmin a grateful smile for remembering that it’s his favorite.

“Hyunjin left you for good, huh?” Seungmin mumbles with a smile. “You should’ve figured he’d be off in three minutes.” 

Jisung huffs. “I was actually hoping I was wrong thinking so. But someone needs to get your drunk asses back home anyway.” 

“What would we do without you, Sung-ah?” 

Seungmin tilts his head back and looks up at the sky. He smiles to himself, and Jisung gets a feeling his friend is just as bored as he is. He wonders why Seungmin came here in the first place, then. After all, he didn’t promise that to anyone, did he?

Jisung swirls the juice in his paper cup, directing his stare to the pool again. This time it’s Momo sitting on the shoulders of some stranger, trying to push Sana into the water. Sana keeps squealing and giggling, trying to get away, but with one swift move she kicks the guy that’s holding Momo. He loses his balance, falling into the water with a splash, pulling Momo along. 

Sana flashes a winning smile, jumping off her partner’s shoulders. She says something to him, then diving right back into the water to swim to Momo and wrap her arm around Momo’s neck, leading her towards the stairs and out of the pool. When Sana starts whispering something in her ear, Jisung looks away abashed, feeling like he shouldn’t be staring.

“Hey, Seungmin!” 

Jisung turns to the voice calling his friend. Jisu is waving at him from the blanket drawn over the grass; when she notices Jisung, she sends him a bright smile. Jisu calls Seungmin with her hand, so Jisung turns to his friend just to find him already looking, sending him a questioning gaze. Jisung lets out a sigh, but nods. 

Seungmin stands up, trotting to Jisu and a bunch of others; they all greet him with smiles and jump into an easy conversation that Jisung can’t actually hear from where he’s sitting beside the door. 

It’s alright. He can manage being alone.

Jisung shuts his eyes close for a moment, letting the conversations and music coming from inside the house destroy the perfect silence. Honestly, he expected something else—a mass of alcohol and drunk students; fights and arguments; Lee Minho. But nothing like this is happening and, despite his former conviction, he hopes it won’t happen. 

He’s imagining lying in his bed, wrapped with soft blankets from head to toe, watching a bunch of Criminal Minds episodes one by one. Warmth pools at the bottom of his stomach, blissful smile tugs at his lips; Jisung is honestly dreaming about going back home. He can’t leave his friends, though—it doesn’t matter they kind of already left him. 

“Are you so bored that you’ve fallen asleep?”

Jisung’s eyes snap open so fast his head spins. Turning to the side, to the chair Seungmin occupied not too long ago, he sees the person he doesn’t want to see at all. 

“Yes. I know it must be news that someone isn’t having fun at your party but I’m actually dying of boredom,” Jisung bites, expecting Minho to stand up and leave.

But he doesn’t—instead, Minho smiles. Playful sparkles dance in his eyes and Jisung can’t ignore them. He swallows, tearing his gaze away and takes a huge sip of juice out of his cup. 

Minho doesn’t intend on sitting there in silence, apparently. “I thought you said you wouldn’t come to a party that celebrates an asshole like me,” he says with a grin, shamelessly mocking Jisung, trying to mimic his voice. 

“My friends made me come,” Jisung tells him but it sounds weak, even to his own ears. He blames the loud music and his sickness, though. Just because he can, and just because it’s a sensible explanation, and just because it’s true.

Minho pretends to look around the garden. “Yeah? Where are they, then?” 

Jisung doesn’t answer. He chugs down the remnants of his drink, ignoring the way Minho’s eyes shift back to him, the way they stay focused and drill holes in Jisung’s body, as if trying to peek into his soul. Jisung feels sick. 

Just as he’s about to stand up and leave Minho to sitting alone and not ruining Jisung’s stable mood, he hears, “Ya , Minho!”. 

Jisung looks to where the voice came from and sees Momo, once again standing next to the pool.

“Come on, help me destroy them,” she asks, pointing to Sana and her friend. The blonde sticks her tongue out but her eyes are so expressive; Jisung can basically see the affection. As if she doesn’t even care about winning that stupid games of chicken fighting. As if the only thing she wants is to tease Momo. 

Minho hesitates but, in the end, stands up from his chair and puts his half-empty bottle of fruit beer on the ground. Jisung feels like he won’t be picking it up again. 

With one last look over his shoulder, Minho joins his friends in the pool. He doesn’t care about soaking his clothes—he jumps in, helps Momo onto his shoulders and rests his slender hands on her thighs to keep her steady, 

Jisung doesn’t want to see it. He sneaks back home from the terrace, though no one is actually paying him the slightest bit of attention. As he steps inside, a pleasant wave of warmth hits him right in the face. To get to the deserted (or at least not occupied to the fullest) part of the room, Jisung needs to break through the dancing crowd. 

He finds an empty armchair and plops down, pulling his knees to his chest. Sweeping a gaze through the room, Jisung looks for his friends. It’s weird that they all disappeared and he hasn’t even caught a glimpse of any of them throughout the evening. 

Jisung lets out a sigh, defeated. That’s when he feels someone bumping into the armchair he’s sitting in, mumbling something indecipherable under their nose. Jisung frowns but—when he notices who it is—almost jumps right into standing, trying to keep the drunk person upright. 

“What the fuck, Hyunjin!” 

“Oh—Sung-ah… I was—I was hoping it was you…”

Jisung grabs his shoulders and rests Hyunjin against the armchair. His friend doesn’t seem that drunk, but in reality Hyunjin doesn’t really need much to lose it. Every next step of drunk Hyunjin might be different, but generally it always ends the same. With a lot of vomit. 

“Come on—Can you walk if you hold onto me?” Jisung asks, even though he’s not sure if Hyunjin even understands what he’s saying. His friend nods, though and grabs Jisung’s hand into his.

“I’m just—I’m just a little tipsy.” 

Jisung ignores him, taking a few steps forward. He realizes he doesn’t really know where to head, so he taps one of the people standing nearby on the shoulder to ask where the bathroom is.

“This one is probably occupied so you have to go upstairs. Then turn left and it’s by the end of the hall. There are circles at the bottom of the door.” 

Jisung thanks them with a nod, beginning to wonder if it’s not better to leave Hyunjin to die than to drag him up the stairs as an act of revenge. In the end, he decides his heart is too good; swinging Hyunjin’s arm over his shoulder, Jisung climbs the first step. 

“Just lift your legs,” he tells Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin just keeps mumbling and whispering but Jisung doesn’t pay him any attention. Considering his sloppy movements and his actual drunken state, they make it up the stairs pretty quickly. On the way through the hall, Jisung settles on dragging Hyunjin’s body instead of helping him walk. It’s easier. 

He makes sure the bathroom is empty before pushing Hyunjin inside and locking the door. Jisung helps him kneel beside the toilet seat and says, “You’ll definitely need to throw up in a moment. Just let it all out, alright? You’ll feel better.” 

Hyunjin nods but looks like his mind is elsewhere. Jisung sits down on the edge of the bathtub, looking around the room. It’s even more luxurious than the one at his house, the one Jisung’s parents use. With one wall made of glass, it makes Jisung wonder how comfortable using it really is but realizes the windows are dimmed from the outside. 

Hyunjin squints his eyes when Jisung glances at him. He’s sure Hyunjin will be puking his insides out any moment. Usually he feels better after vomiting—maybe he’s more lively—so Jisung can’t really wait for when Hyunjin gets the alcohol out of his stomach. 

Jisung notices the way the huge windows look out to the garden—to the pool; he stands up, coming closer and can’t help himself from staring at Minho and Momo bravely trying to push Sana off some guy’s shoulders.

Minho’s black t-shirt is sticking to his back; even from above, Jisung can see his outlined muscles. He abashes, face and ears flushing red. 

Just as Jisung thinks the pool games are never going to end, Momo—with what seems to be the last of her strength—pushes Sana into the water, instantly pointing a finger at her with a smug smile. She leans over to Minho, ruffling his damp hair. He tells her something, eyes focused; none of them notices Sana sneaking up to them with a bright smile, just to push them both into the pool. Jisung presses his lips together to stop a giggle from spilling out. 

Minho emerges from the water right away, wet hair sticking to his face. His mouth hangs open as he gasps. For a moment Jisung thinks he might be angry, but then a smile spreads across Minho’s face and Jisung’s breath hitches in his throat. 

Minho’s clothes are sticking to his body when he jumps onto the edge of the pool. He pushes his wet hair back, chest erupting in a laugh; Jisung can’t hear it but just seeing his face is enough to make him _feel_ it.

Jisung—Jisung can’t stop himself from staring. He feels weird, but this is exactly what looking at Minho with nothing close to disgust is like—weird. (Maybe Jisung is exaggerating a little bit.)

Hyunjin throwing up makes him tear his eyes away from the garden. He remembered about holding his hair away from his face, and even if it’s a messy grasp, Hyunjin can’t be that drunk.

Jisung glances over his shoulder once again, but neither Minho, nor Momo, nor any familiar face is there. He makes his way to Hyunjin then, crouching next to him on the cold floor. Hyunjin groans, most likely from discomfort and disgust, but Jisung can’t do anything to help him other than drawing patterns with his fingers on Hyunjin’s back. His shoulders relax under Jisung’s touch, so he doesn’t stop. With the other hand Jisung pushes the stray strands of Hyunjin’s hair off his sweaty forehead and sends him a soft smile. 

“You’ll be alright,” Jisung keeps murmuring. 

After a moment, Hyunjin gives him a look through narrowed eyes, tilting his head back and flutters his eyelids shut. He takes deep breaths—a lot deep breaths—before letting the room plunge into silence. Jisung runs fingers through his friend’s hair, holding him up and preventing him from falling with a hand on Hyunjin’s back. 

“I’m thirsty,” Hyunjin mumbles then, swallowing hard. 

“I’ll go downstairs to get you a new cup, alright? Rinse your mouth in the sink if you think you can stand, but if you can’t, just wait for me.” 

Hyunjin nods in agreement but doesn’t move an inch. Jisung stands up from the floor, feeling weirdly heavy. With his hand on the door handle, he looks over his shoulder to make sure Hyunjin is alright with being left alone.

Hyunjin just looks tired, maybe exhausted, even, but Jisung believes he’ll feel better in no time, so he leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

The hallway is much darker than Jisung remembers it to be, but despite that and despite not knowing the layout of the house, Jisung finds his way downstairs, almost running to get to the kitchen as quickly as he can. Someone tries to stop him on his way back but Jisung doesn’t have the time—he calls an “excuse me” and pushes through the crowded living room, rushing back to the bathroom. 

Hyunjin is leaning back on the tiled wall when Jisung pushes the door open, but with his eyes wide open, he looks much more conscious. Jisung pours water from the sink into the cup, handing it to his friend. Hyunjin rinses his mouth repeatedly, spitting everything into the toilet and asks Jisung for more, this time drinking the entire cup in one gulp. 

He’s panting when Jisung takes the paper cup from him. His mouth opens and closes, like he’s trying to form a sentence but can’t grasp any words. Jisung crouches in front of Hyunjin, resting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

Hyunjin lets out a sigh. “I’ll just stay… I don’t—I don’t want Changbin to see me like this.” 

“Oh, baby. Believe me, there are things much worse than throwing up in his bathroom during a party.” 

It’s a success when Hyunjin cracks a slight smile. He nods and then lets his head fall to the side. As he closes his eyes, Jisung thinks Hyunjin might be falling asleep, but—as if reading his mind—Hyunjin tells him, “I just need a moment to gather myself. And I hope I’ll find something to wash my face—I feel so fucking disgusting.” 

Jisung pats him on the head with a chuckle. He stands up, sweeping invisible dust off his pants. Just as he’s about to leave, Hyunjin grabs his hand. 

“Thank you, Sungie. You’re—You’re incredible.” 

Jisung didn’t do anything to deserve Hyunjin drilling holes in his face with glistening eyes, but it’s a nice thing to hear; Jisung smiles. 

“I’ll stay in the hall, if you need me. I’d rather be here than downstairs,” he tells Hyunjin before leaving. His friend looks like he’s ready to object, to tell Jisung he should go back to partying, but in the end decides not to and nods. 

Jisung just doesn’t want to leave him alone. He wants to give Hyunjin some time to gather himself together but he’s still intoxicated, confused, bemused. Jisung would lose his mind if he didn’t know everything was fine with Hyunjin.

He shuts the door close, leaning his whole body against it. Feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over him, Jisung lets out a sigh. 

In this part of the house, music isn’t as loud as it is downstairs. It’s gotten quieter, even; as if some people already went home. No other soul is upstairs, it seems; beside him, Hyunjin on the other side of the wall and the lamp in the corner casting a golden glow over the dimmed hall. 

Jisung doesn’t know how long he’ll have to wait for the rest of his friends. He takes his phone out of the back pocket of his pants to check the time and narrows his eyes as the brightness of the screen blinds him for a split second. 

It’s a little past midnight. Jisung has already spent way too long at this party; much more than he expected, much more than he wanted. 

Jisung jumps, startled, as the door at the end of the hallway opens with a squeak. His head snaps that way but Jisung is hesitant; it’s not even his house—what if it’s a burglar? Or a murderer? 

A figure emerges from the darkness; their black clothes don’t help either them, or Jisung. Yes, Jisung can already feel the heart attack coming. 

Considering their physique, Jisung assumes it’s a man, but when they finally step into the beam of the lamp, Jisung curses under his breath. He really should’ve seen that coming. 

Minho is strolling his way, but it appears that he doesn’t see Jisung. Towel that he’s holding in his hands he lifts up to dry his hair. He probably came upstairs to change after getting soaked in the pool. 

He lets out a soft “oh” when his eyes land on Jisung, pressed against the bathroom door. Minho stops, opening his mouth, but presses his lips back together when Jisung quirks an eyebrow. It seems like he’s thinking about what to say but what leaves his mouth is “Bathroom’s occupied?” 

Well, Jisung expected a lot of things, but not a question like this one. He swallows the weird taste on his tongue, trying to forget about what he’s thought. 

“Um—Yeah. Hyunjin—Hyunjin is kinda feeling… unwell,” Jisung says after a moment. Minho nods, slinging the towel over one of his shoulders. 

“Ah, right. Changbin’s been looking for him.” 

“He has?” 

One of the corners of Minho’s mouth curls up as he shrugs. “Yeah. I think something’s going on between them.”

It’s stupid—Jisung’s thoughts are just madly stupid. Why would he even think that Minho isn’t really talking about their friends? It’s so fucking stupid. And it makes Jisung’s knees buckle. 

With a hand pressed to the door, Jisung tries to keep himself upright, begging the heavens to spare him; begging that Minho doesn’t notice. He exhales with a whistle. 

Even in the dimmed lights, Minho’s face looks soft; it’s clearly gentle, so different from what Jisung is used to seeing. He notices the way Minho’s eyes follow his every move with an evident glint. With the corners of his mouth curled up in a strange smile and arms crossed over his chest, Minho’s presence is an enigma Jisung can’t decipher. 

“You’re staring,” Minho speaks up, startling him. 

“I’m not staring,” Jisung answers but he knows how pathetic it sounds. At least Minho can’t see the way his ears hit up in the darkness. But Jisung can feel it; Jisung can feel the flush magnifying and it only makes him feel more embarrassed. A never-ending cycle. 

Jisung inhales sharply and that’s his mistake—he can smell the sweet scent of Minho’s shampoo embracing him, irritating his nostrils, drawing him closer. He snaps his eyes open but Minho’s expression remains the same; his eyes are still fixed on Jisung and Jisung only, as if not even a second has passed since his remark. 

But to Jisung it feels like it’s been a thousand years. 

In the darkness, Minho’s face is so close to Jisung’s that when he speaks up again, his warm, minty breath crashes against Jisung’s cheek, against his mouth, against his face—and Jisung doesn’t even know, he doesn’t register what Minho’s saying. 

It’s a quick movement of his lips but no words reach Jisung’s ears. He frowns, looking up, looking into Minho’s eyes. Minho is still staring at him. 

They held eye contact before. They annoyed, played, teased each other before. But this time, in the dark hallway, when there’s much more than enough room for both of them, they’re invading each other’s space and everything feels different. 

Minho leans in, taking another step forward. The pressure of his body overthrows all the logical reasons for objection. Jisung’s hands move without his permission, automatic, raising and raising until they land on Minho’s waist. Jisung can feel the fabric of his t-shirt underneath his fingertips as he grips it with his fists. 

Minho’s fingers wander to Jisung’s neck, delicately brushing over his skin before firmly pulling their faces closer together.

Jisung’s heart hammers in his chest, knees wobble; he’s weak. He tightens the grip on Minho’s t-shirt, closing his eyes and doesn’t care what happens next. If Minho laughs at him, if Minho moves away and bursts into laughter, if he’ll never let Jisung live—Jisung doesn’t give a single fuck.

But Minho doesn’t laugh. Instead, he leans in closer and in a second all Jisung can focus on is the way Minho presses their lips together so softly, and at the same time attacks Jisung’s senses with sickening force. 

Whatever it is—whatever this feeling is, it pulls Jisung closer; it makes a fire burn under his skin, makes his blood boil just to freeze it a second later; it makes him feel like Jisung is losing his breath, yet for the first time in his life can actually breathe. Minho’s body is pulling him, pulling him, and pulling him in; like his hands are outer space. Gravity can’t hold them. 

Minho pushes him onto the wall, slipping a hand under Jisung’s back to help him from getting bruised. Jisung doesn’t know what gets into him when he grips Minho’s hips just to crash them against his own, and when he lets his hands wander under Minho’s t-shirt to roam all over his warm skin. Their teeth clash but it doesn’t matter—Jisung moves his hands to Minho’s cheeks, deepening the kiss. 

It’s everything—the way a hesitant kiss gives way to passion. The way Jisung’s hands seem to be exploring the entire world when they’re wandering over Minho’s body. The way it’s hot, stuffy, dark and they still can’t pull away. The way Minho’s body is clinging to Jisung’s, pressing him harder to the wall, conquering him, trapping him, not giving him a chance to run away; pleasant but untamed. Jisung squeezes his eyes even harder. 

If a heart could explode, Jisung’s would be counting down seconds to the outbreak. 

Sick. It’s so sick, and Jisung is crazy for letting it happen. 

He thinks he hears someone clearing their throat, but Jisung’s mind is too hazy to tell if he actually does; if it’s not imagination playing tricks on his mad brain. But the same irritating sound repeats and Minho is pulling away.

Jisung doesn’t want to let him go.

He moves his hands to Minho’s shoulders, trying to keep him in place, trying to keep him close. But Minho mumbles his name, so Jisung opens his eyes and blinks, adjusting to the better visibility. 

The dark figure he sees out of the corner of his eye comes closer, and when light reaches them, Jisung sees Changbin.

As if Minho’s body burns, Jisung jumps away from him, crashing into the small table. He grips the edge, trying to keep himself upright but his left leg throbs. Wanting to help him up, Minho grabs his forearm but, with his scorching hot touch, Jisung realizes where and with who he is. He tears away from the embrace, panting as he moves to the other side of the hallway. 

His heart is trembling, painfully crashing against his ribcage, and Jisung isn’t sure where to look. One thing’s for sure—not at Minho. Everywhere but not at Minho. 

Jisung is trying to stabilize his breathing but the weight of the situation isn’t helping. The deafening silence that suddenly seems to fall over the entire house is so different to the screeching mess of Jisung’s rushing thoughts. 

None of them seems to know what to say.

But Changbin apparently does; he clears his throat, moving towards the bathroom door. “Hyunjin texted me he was here,” he says, sweeping a gaze over Jisung. He has to be conveying something to Minho with his power of friend-telepathy, because Minho shakes his head, like Changbin’s asking him a question.

Jisung doesn’t understand a fucking thing. 

When Changbin leads hyunjin out of the bathroom, Hyunjin looks too tired to realize Jisung is standing right beside him. He seems like he’s already half-asleep, with his head awkwardly resting on Changbin’s shoulder but he’s still walking by himself. 

Jisung has to go from there all the more now—he needs to drive his friends back home. He sets off to follow Changbin but Minho is faster—he grabs Jisung’s wrist again, holding him in place. 

“I have to go,” Jisung tells him but he can’t even bring himself to rip out of Minho’s grip. 

“Jisung—”

“No,” he cuts in, trying his best to make his voice sound stern. He can feel the exhaustion dawning on him and the mess Minho left behind in Jisung’s mind—on Jisung’s body—isn’t helping at all. “I’m drunk.”

Minho huffs. “Well, I am not.” 

Jisung swallows but the bitter taste on his tongue doesn’t go away. “Leave me alone. I didn’t want to—I didn’t.” 

Jisung knows Minho’s eyebrows rise up even when he can’t bring himself to look up at him. 

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you kissed me,” Minho scoffs. 

“ _I_ kissed you?” Jisung asks with disbelief. 

Minho remains quiet for a beat too long, just to play it cool and say, “Don’t worry, it wasn’t an experience worth remembering for me either.”

Aha. 

Jisung nods despite himself, as if they’re agreeing on something together, and turns on his heel, running down the stairs to find the living room mostly deserted, leaving Minho far behind. 

He notices Felix and Jeongin standing by the pool, backs turned to Jisung, and a bunch of people still chilling on the garden chairs despite the piercing cold wind blowing inside through the open door. Jisung doubts they’re warm. 

Someone puts their hand on his shoulder. Jisung—still worked up—jumps away. When he turns, it’s only Seungmin beside him, eyeing him with a fusion of worry and surprise on his face. 

“What’s up with your face?” 

Jisung stares at him like he’s crazy, trying to look collected, though his heart is still hammering and just won’t fucking stop. Jisung is mad. Jisung is just so mad. 

Seungmin reaches into his pocket to fish out his phone. When he sticks it into Jisung’s face with the camera turned on, Jisung realizes what he means with a single glance at himself on the screen. 

His face—his entire mouth is smeared with lipstick. Lipstick that Minho apparently is wearing. Fucking hell. 

Breath hitches in Jisung’s throat but he decides to ignore it—ignore everything. Minho, the kiss, Seungmin and his question, the light red stains all over his face, the way his heart just can’t slow down. 

Jisung sweeps a gaze over the room but he can’t see Hyunjin anywhere. Sneakily, he tries to wipe the lipstick off with the back off his hand; at least a little—just to get rid of the evidence of something that makes him warm all over and sickeningly ashamed at the same time. 

When he calls for Felix and Jeongin, he sees the way they stare at him with surprise and curiosity. Jisung regrets he doesn’t have a mask with him. It’d be so helpful to just hide. 

He heaves a sigh but no questions come. His friends mutually agree to ignore the lipstick on his face and Jisung can’t be more grateful. 

Jisung rushes to the front door, wanting to leave the ill-fated party as soon as possible. His friends trot after him, looking very much sober. That’s a good thing—that’s probably the best thing to happen tonight. 

Jisung takes his car keys out of the pocket of his jacket, not noticing Minho standing at the bottom of the stairs until he calls his name. Startled, Jisung lets the keys slip out of his hands and fall to the floor. When he bends down to get them, Minho quickly covers them with his shoe.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jisung asks reproachfully. If it’s some kind of game for Jisung to look at Minho or maybe kiss him to get the keys back—

“You said you were drunk,” Minho says bitterly, though he sounds way too collected. Way too indifferent. “You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you drive.”

Jisung wants to object—he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol throughout the night but his own words from moments ago return to him with doubled power. Is this already his karma for the stupid lie?

Out of the corner of his eye, Jisung can see Seungmin raise his eyebrows and cross arms over his chest, carefully watching. 

Before Jisung can even respond, Changbin leans over the stairs railing and says, “Hyunjin looks like death so I took him to the guest bedroom and now he’s fast asleep. Do you want me to—?” 

“No,” Jisung cuts in. “Let him sleep.” 

Changbin watches him for a short moment with something close to amusement; then he pushes himself off the railing to disappear in the darkness of upstairs. Jisung doesn’t have anything else to do—he turns, heading to the door. With one hand on the door handle, he hears Changbin whistling and calling Minho’s name; Jisung can’t help but look over his shoulder and watch how Changbin throws something and Minho catches it with utmost ease. From the distance, Jisung can’t see what exactly it is but it’s not like he cares, so he turns back to the door, pushing it open with verve. 

Cold, autumn air hits him right in the face; his tired eyes tear up. Jisung shivers, now aware that a thin jacket isn’t really protecting him from the wind as well as he’d like it to. 

He rushes down the stone steps and trots to his car with arms crossed over his chest. Jisung looks back at the others, making sure they’re all actually following him. Felix and Jeongin are walking through the yard by Minho’s both sides; Seungmin is a few steps behind them, still eyeing Minho with curiosity—like he’s deep in thought. 

When they’re close enough, Minho takes a glance at the car keys he’s holding in one hand (with what Changbin threw at him in the other) and unlocks Jisung’s car with the button. Jeongin looks like he’s regained all the strength—he runs towards the car and climbs onto the backseat in no time.

Jisung freezes when Felix opens the door on the other side. He’s not going to sit in the passenger seat, in the front, with Minho. Nah. No way. 

His hand lingers on the edge of the backseat door and Jisung is about to jump right into the empty place next to Jeongin, when someone grabs his hand. No. 

“Jisung,” Minho calls, voice gentle. 

It takes Jisung a moment too long to turn around, to face Minho. He’s not a coward. It’s just that his thoughts are all tangled and messed up for Jisung to look into Minho’s eyes and see things in them. It’d be too much. 

“Here,” Minho says, handing Jisung the thing Changbin threw him in the house. Jisung eyes his stretched out hand with hesitation but when he sees it’s just a packet of wet tissues, he grabs it like it’s a treasure. 

He sneaks a glance at Minho’s face. Minho doesn’t have the lipstick on anymore but the darker traces he couldn’t wipe off still adorn the area around his mouth. Oh, well. 

Jisung clears his throat and takes one tissue out of the packet. Even without a mirror—though there’s a perfectly functioning one by the car—he thoroughly wipes his face, watching the reddish lipstick stains appearing on the white tissue. As he looks up, Minho nods, silently letting him know he got rid of the prints. Jisung doesn’t know if he can trust him. 

“Thanks,” he says, though. Balling up the used tissue, Jisung shoves it into the pocket of his jacket.

Minho leaves him by the car without another word, climbing onto the driver’s seat. Jisung stands there for a moment longer, frozen, trying to gather himself up. When he finally gets into the car, he takes the seat next to Jeongin. Seungmin is sitting in the front but when Jisung is fastening his seatbelts, in the rearview mirror, he sends Jisung a look with a million questions written on his face. 

Jisung pretends he doesn’t notice. 

Minho starts the engine, driving out of Changbin’s driveway but he stops by the gate just to ask, “So… where am I supposed to go?” 

When Jisung doesn’t answer—and everyone assumes he’d be the one to respond—and keeps stubbornly staring through the window, Felix clears his throat. “Uh—to Jisung’s place. I mean, it’s—”

“I know,” Minho interrupts before he even gets to tell him the address.

None of them asks why Minho knows. 

A strange silence falls over the car and Jisung doesn’t think he’s ever felt this awkward beside his friends. They’re curious and probably thinking of a million possibilities of what happened—because to them it’s clear _something_ happened—but Jisung isn’t ready to admit to anything. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing happened. 

Jisung heaves a sigh; his breath remains on the window as a fog. He holds back from drawing a smiley face with his finger; he’s not in the mood and the fog disappears after a second. 

Jeongin rests his head on Jisung’s shoulder so he turns to the side to face him. He’s looking up at Jisung with concern but doesn’t speak—as if he knows that asking about how Jisung is feeling out loud is less than wanted. But Jisung forces himself to put on a weak smile and rests his cheek against the crown of Jeongin’s head. 

It’s late but the streets aren’t any less bustling. Only after Minho turns into the right street and they end up in Jisung’s neighbourhood does it get calmer. 

Jisung might appear absent, as if his thoughts are drifting far, far away, but he’s actually paying attention to every little thing that’s happening. Jeongin’s static breathing, Felix tapping on the door, Seungmin casting side-eye glances at Minho every now and then, and Minho… Minho’s grip is firm on the wheel and his shoulders tense but it’s the only thing Jisung can see seated behind him. 

When he notices they’re approaching his estate, Jisung digs the phone from under his thigh and opens the gate with the app. His eyes meet Minho’s when he makes the mistake of looking straight into the rearview mirror but Jisung looks away and Minho enters the driveway and the silence somehow grows heavier. 

Despite arriving at their destination, none of them makes the effort to get out of the car. Jisung thinks Jeongin might actually be sleeping on his shoulder since he hasn’t moved for a while. Jisung shares a look with Felix over Jeongin’s head; Felix gets out and drags Jeongin out of the car, groaning. (Jeongin is pretending. He’s definitely just pretending, trying to score himself a ride right into Jisung’s bed.) Seungmin muffles a chuckle and leaves to help Felix with hauling Jeongin to Jisung’s home (or pushing him into the bushes, Jisung doesn’t really know). 

It only gets worse—heavier and tense when they’re left in the car alone. Jisung didn’t think a silence more pregnant than before was even possible. But here he is. And, honestly, he can’t even stand Minho’s presence. Not alone. 

Jisung pushes the car door open, jumping onto the cobblestones of the driveway and shakes off invisible dust off his pants. Minho—and it’s not like Jisung didn’t expect just that—follows in a heartbeat.

Jisung’s name rips out of his lips once again, as if he can’t even stop himself; as if he doesn’t want to. As if it’s his favorite word to say, the one that rolls off his tongue with perfect ease. As if he can’t do without it. As if he can’t even control it. 

Minho hands him the keys. Jisung locks the car, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. He doesn’t know what’s holding him frozen in that spot, but he can’t just walk away and leave Minho there. 

“How are you gonna get home?” Jisung asks, because it hasn’t crossed his mind before.

Minho rocks on the soles of his shoes. “I don’t live that far away,” he says, and Jisung nods though it’s not entirely true. If it was someone else, maybe he’d say something—but it’s Minho and it’s not Jisung’s business.

“Thanks for driving us.” 

“Didn’t want you to do something stupid.”

Jisung wouldn’t be doing anything stupid. He’d never get behind the wheel after having a drink—never in his life, much less with passengers. But it’s not like he can tell Minho that there’s not even a millionth of alcohol per mille in his blood. The only thing Jisung is drunk on is that fucking kiss. 

Dark hallway, Minho’s body pressed against his, hands roaming on every bit of his skin, exploring, exploring, exploring. 

Jisung shivers. 

“Just go to sleep,” Minho tells him, mistaking his body language—mistaking the shivers with feeling cold. Jisung wishes to be this oblivious. “It was… a long night.”

Minho begins walking away, slipping through the open gate and Jisung suddenly remembers the night Minho walked him home. A lot of things have changed since then. In his eyes, Minho has changed beyond recognition. Or maybe it’s Jisung.

Maybe it’s just Jisung. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated ♡
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/hanllno)   
>  [my writing twitter](https://twitter.com/10h25min)   
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	2. Blurring All The Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: there's a scene of what i would call emotional manipulation; it's when jisung has the talk with his parents. please be mindful of that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know life in stayville is very hard right now and i, too, am feeling like hell but i hope this chapter of just one hit can help you take your mind off things. please prioritize your own well-being and take care of yourself. we can overcome it <3

Jisung realizes he still has a biology project to do with Minho when Mrs Kang sends them a message with guidelines. 

He falls down on the pillow with a sigh and fixes his eyes at the white ceiling. The previous night, while avoiding his friends and their inevitable questions, he managed to drive across town to buy glowing-in-the-dark self-adhesive stars in a stationery store. He almost broke his neck when he was glueing them on, but he managed to make them look presentable, and now Jisung doesn’t feel all that lonely during the silent nights spent in his empty house.

He turns to the side and picks up his phone back in his hand, wondering what he should do—Jisung wants to get on with the project as quickly as possible so that he doesn’t have to spend a lot of time with Minho, but at the same time he feels uneasy at the mere thought of meeting him so soon. 

The truth is, Jisung can’t stop thinking about what happened Saturday night. Every time as he closes his eyes, his mind brings back the hallway wrapped in darkness and Minho’s lips on his. Every time it’s just as lively—as if Jisung is still standing in the same place and the fatal kiss continues uninterrupted.

Jisung doesn’t know what to do. 

He can’t ask his friends for advice because of a very simple reason—Jisung is ashamed to the core. At the party, he was overwhelmed by emotions. Sudden feelings tarnished his pride and filled him with embarrassment to the brim. Jisung still isn’t sure why the kiss happened in the first place but one thing he knows for sure—Jisung wasn’t himself then. 

Had Minho approached him in broad daylight, had he invaded his personal space in such a way any other day, Jisung would have screamed or might have even called the police. But that evening was different. Jisung has yet to figure out why. 

He doesn’t want to face this  _ problem _ sooner than he has to, though. The memory of the party has a delicate, indistinct nature, as if it’s a dream. A part of Jisung wants to believe, to cling to the thought that it’s exactly all it is. Just a dream. 

Just as he’s about to unlock his phone and ask Felix for Minho’s number—because Felix apparently has everyone’s number, and Jisung needs to contact Minho somehow—the screen lights up with an incoming notification. Jisung doesn’t read the message before the screen goes out again, but he does have a hunch about who just texted him.

**UNKNOWN:** did you get the guidelines? when are you free? - minho 

Jisung closes his eyes with a sigh. He doesn’t even feel like wondering how Minho got his number or why he’s so interested in the school project in the first place. Jisung is convinced that Minho does not give a single fuck about school. He’s probably doing all this to annoy him. This is the only logical explanation.

**JISUNG:** library at 4 tomorrow? 

**MINHO:** okay 

Even through the screen Jisung can feel the awkward tension. He sees the three dots appearing and disappearing at the bottom of his screen just to eventually fade. Jisung waits a moment longer, wondering if Minho will send something in the end but when the chat bubble doesn’t show up again, he turns off his phone. 

Jisung falls asleep, to the very last second wondering what Minho wanted to tell him. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Jisung has never been late to school in his entire life. However, he sleeps through the alarm clock on Tuesday, even though it’s usually enough to wake him from his hardest sleep; only that morning realizes he used the last contact lenses he had the day before and must wear glasses that he usually only wears at home to school. 

When he’s packing his bag, Jisung can’t find his math textbook on his desk, so he searches for it all over the house, and doesn’t find it in the end. Then, when he’s in the car, realizes he hasn’t closed the balcony door and needs to go back. Due to roadworks, the street Jisung wants to drive to save time is closed and he has to go back to the main road, wasting even more time.

When he finally gets to school, it’s way past the first period. 

Jisung bangs his head on the steering wheel in irritation, and the sound of the horn echoing through the air startles even him.

Jisung is furious. 

He fixes the round specs on his nose, gets out of his car and slams the door shut. Marching to school in a sweeping step, Jisung immediately heads towards the basement where the math is to be held, not even wasting time to go up and find his friends.

He pushes the classroom door so hard that it bounces off the wall with a bang. Fortunately, no one is inside yet. If someone saw this, Jisung would be in a lot of trouble. 

He takes his usual spot and squeezes his eyes shut, taking a few (a lot) deep breaths, trying to calm down with all of him. The door keeps opening and more and more students come in, but Jisung remains impassive. He hears the chair beside him pull back with a characteristic screech, but still continues his moment of silence. Jisung has to calm his shattered nerves; he doesn’t want to snap at anyone for no reason, just because he’s having a terrible morning.

Being late is no big deal, but an impeccable attendance gave Jisung tremendous satisfaction. Well, not anymore. Maybe if the fucking alarm clock would’ve rung the way it was supposed to—Jisung lets out a sigh. 

He slowly opens his eyes and blinks to get used to the lighting. Felix is leaning against his desk and staring with a lovely smile painted on his face. Jisung feels his anger fly out the window.

“Tough morning?” Felix asks. When Jisung nods, he reaches for his backpack and takes out his lunchbox, sliding it across Jisung’s desk. “I was supposed to give them to you guys for lunch but maybe they’ll cheer you up now. Take as many as you want, baby.” 

Jisung seriously wants to cry. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve the friendship of an angel like Felix but he’s grateful for it every single day.

Sending his friend a smile, Jisung reaches for one of the brownies in the lunch box. Felix watches him for a moment longer with an encouraging glint in his eyes, before turning to Jeongin and smacking him on the arm when he notices Jeongin has been doodling over Felix’s maths notes.

Jisung eats only two more brownies and tightly closes the box just to slide it to the edge of his table. He’s going to kiss Felix’s entire face when this class ends. Jisung needs to recharge his positive energy and Felix is his proven source. 

Maybe Jisung was indeed ignoring his friends on Sunday and didn’t talk much on Monday because shame and the mess in his head robbed him of his ability to think properly, but he feels much better with them by his side. When they’re smiling at him, doodling in his notebooks when Jisung isn’t looking; when they’re holding his hand and pulling him into big, big, big hugs; when they’re just there, filling up the dangerous silence in his head.

Jisung just loves them so, so much.

P.E. ends earlier than it should (one of the few good things today) but Jisung still lingers in the locker room, dreading seeing Minho. Of course he can manage a douche like him but Minho has him in the palm of his hand—one word and the whole school will know what happened at the party and this time, Jisung won’t be able to deny it. He’ll drown in the gossip. Jisung just wants to finish high school well—in peace and quiet—and the wild whispers don’t really fit in with his ideal image of his last years at school.

A part of Jisung begins thinking about how Minho hasn’t really been ruining his life these days (that much) but Jisung puts the thought out as soon as it begins to burn. Minho isn’t a good person—his heart needs to stop idealizing him. 

He nods to himself and climbs the stairs. Quietly opening the library door, Jisung sends the librarian behind the desk a slight smile, and then heads to the farthest corner of the room that has become _ their _ default meeting place without any actual conversation.

Minho isn’t there yet but Jisung has only a few minutes of serenity to himself before the older boy gets to the library. Minho fixes him with a look—one that Jisung can’t decipher—immediately upon arriving, mutters something that sounds like a greeting—that Jisung doesn’t respond to—and sits down on the seat across from him.

Level of awkwardness and embarrassment skyrockets, surprising Jisung. This whole tension is unbearable even to him. 

“Well,” Jisung starts, clearing his throat, “I think we got assigned a good city. Chuncheon is surrounded by small islands and lakes so I guess we got lucky.” Minho agrees with a nod. Jisung only sees it from under his eyelashes because there’s no way he’s going to make eye contact. Last time it did not end well. “We should go there before it gets cold.”

“You probably know everything better than me so just tell me what to do,” says Minho. 

Jisung lets out a soft gasp and coughs to hide his surprise. He can see Minho biting back a smile at his reaction and it only makes his stomach twist. Jisung is sure it’s the growing irritation; he fucking hates when people make fun of him. 

Jisung rolls his eyes and slides his hand over the cover of his notebook. 

“Alright. Just think about what we can actually consider looking for and writing about,” he says, leaning over the table to immediately start writing down his ideas on one of the blank pages. 

Minho takes out a notebook out of his bag and opens it on a random page, scribbling something, too. Jisung doesn’t hide his surprise. 

Until the last second, he thinks Minho doesn’t care—especially about school and projects and everything that requires commitment. It’s a strange thing to realize that Minho might not be exactly who Jisung thought him to be all this time. 

No. 

Jisung needs to stop thinking about it. He needs to stop occupying his mind with stupid things. He needs to focus on himself, on his friends, on school—on anything other than Minho. 

“I’m done,” Jisung says after he manages to fill up his piece of paper but, before lifting his gaze, he underlines a few words and adds exclamation marks in the margin. He lets his eyes meet Minho’s and it’s scary, the way he knows what’s going to happen before Minho even gets to open his mouth. 

“Jisung—”

“It was a mistake,” Jisung cuts in, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Let’s not… bring it up.”

Minho puts his head down. His hair falls around his face, messy, but he doesn’t even try to brush it away. He just nods and goes back to scribbling notes in his notebook. A silent agreement, a pact of some sorts about something Jisung didn’t even let him say out loud.

(Rules are meant to be broken.)

Jisung finished writing his own, but he can’t bring himself to move as if something’s holding him down in that goddamn library chair. He’s pointlessly fiddling with his pen, eyes fixed on the table.

In reality, Jisung is too tired of this whole confusion, of spending endless hours replaying his footsteps, thinking of the next ones when he ends up with a mess even bigger than before. It’s all beginning to overwhelm him.

“Are you alright?” he hears out of nowhere.

Jisung lifts his head, brave enough to look Minho in the eyes. Minho is staring at him with a frown. His hand, holding the pen, hangs motionless in the air a few centimeters above the densely written sheet of paper.

“Uh—Yes. Sure. It’s just—It’s been… a tough week.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Minho points out. A corner of his mouth curls up in a skittish grin; Jisung rolls his eyes almost immediately. Automatically. Nothing has changed. 

“I said what I said.” 

Minho shakes his head. An amused smile still paints on his face as he taps the tip of his pen thoughtfully on the table. Jisung involuntarily recalls their first (real) meeting. Same pen, same sound, same place, same them. 

Everything is getting more and more weird and incomprehensible, but—at that very particular moment—Jisung doesn’t want to comprehend anything. He wants to remain suspended in the bubble protecting him from all the complications of life, wants to keep listening to the tapping that’s suddenly not that annoying; he wants to stare at Minho in the empty library and pretend he doesn’t. Jisung  _ wants _ . 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Jisung is willing to sacrifice cuddling up to the heater if that means he can shamelessly cuddle up to Seungmin’s side and drink hot chocolate straight from Jeongin’s thermos. He has no bloody idea what tempted his friends to spend the break alfresco when it’s so cold outside. Felix claimed it was for their health and is frankly the only person Jisung believes in such bullshit for. 

Jisung dug blankets out of his car and they then spread them out on the bench to keep their asses from freezing off. Despite the piercing cold, the sun is obnoxious—shining right into their eyes. Hyunjin has thought about taking sunglasses with him, so with a blissful expression on his face, he’s absorbing the rays, leaning back.

Jeongin stretches his hand towards Jisung with expectation clear on his face. Jisung—with utmost regret—hands him the thermos, letting Jeongin pour himself another cup, but in his mind he’s already complaining about the loss of warmth. Jisung wishes he took a heat pack to school today. With a sigh he cuddles further up to Seungmin’s side, resting his head on his shoulder, trying to catch Seungmin’s body heat to warm himself up.

Even with the goosebumps inducing chilly wind, Jisung thinks it’s a quite pleasant day. They’re alone, far from other students’ deafening conversations and Felix is taking out gingerbread from his bag. Heaven—everything else be damned, this is literal heaven. 

“Isn’t it too early for this?” Jeongin asks, sipping his hot chocolate. With the cup still in his hand, he points at the cake. 

Felix deadpans. “It’s never too early for gingerbread.” 

Jeongin holds his hands up in surrender, forgetting about the cup he’s holding. Hot chocolate spills over his pants and jacket and his hands are sticky from sugar. Jisung takes out a packet of wet wipes from his bag. It actually belongs to Changbin but Jisung’s been carrying it around since the party, not really sure if it’s something he should return. 

As Jeongin is wiping his hands (and trying to get rid of the stain on his jeans), Hyunjin slides his sunglasses off his nose in a dramatic gesture of shock. 

“Holy fuck,” he mumbles, drawing their attention. Everyone follows his gaze and, as Jisung’s eyes find the spot Hyunjin’s staring at so passionately, he freezes. 

Minho is getting out of the car with his friends—Changbin and Chan—and heading to the school. But it’s not why they’re attracting attention.

Their faces are battered, even more than usual. Minho’s hand, messily wrapped with a bandage, sways by his side with every step. His cheek—the one Jisung can see from where he’s sitting—has a cut going sideways; as if someone slit him with a knife. A little higher, under his eye, stretching onto his temple a bruise is painted, blueish. From the distance Jisung can’t see everything but he’s sure Minho’s lips are wounded—he keeps sweeping his tongue over them, as if he can’t stop himself and at the same time hopes to get rid of the discomfort somehow. 

A band-aid is stuck on Changbin’s nose, though his other injuries are laid bare. A cut above his brow unfurling across his temple, a slightly torn skin on his cheek, and a dark bruise on the jaw. He fixes the strap of his backpack on his shoulder, wincing in pain. 

Chan is the only one without visible injuries but, with his jaw clenched and steel gaze, he doesn’t look any less intimidating. 

Jisung doesn’t realize he’s clenching his fists over Seungmin’s coat until Seungmin doesn’t nudge him in the side. “Sorry,” he mumbles, though he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the boys striding through the school’s courtyard. 

Changbin looks around and stops in his tracks upon noticing them. (It’s definitely not hard, considering they’re the only other people outside and they’re shamelessly staring.) He says something, making Minho stop, too. 

Minho turns—unreasonably slow—and sweeps his gaze over them. Jisung thinks that when Minho’s eyes landed on him, he clenched his jaw even tighter but he can’t really tell if he’s right when he’s seated so far away. 

Minho speaks out, or rather mumbles something that’s too hard to understand when Jisung is trying to read from his lips. Then, as if nothing happened, not even sparing them a glance, he rushes to the school. Changbin, though, lifts his hand (bandaged, more neatly than Minho’s) and waves their way. 

Jisung looks to the side, at Hyunjin, only to find him with eyes wide open and his hand ridiculously suspended mid-air. Jeongin laughs aloud and even takes out his phone to capture Hyunjin losing his mind. 

When Changbin disappears out of their field of view, Hyunjin shakes it all off. He wags his finger at Jeongin, sputtering, “Delete it right this moment, you little shit!” 

Jeongin does not give a flying fuck, with utmost happiness sticking his phone into Jisung and Seungmin’s faces to show them the video. 

“Upload it to the drive so it doesn’t magically disappear,” Jisung tells him, earning a laugh even louder. Hyunjin only smacks Jeongin on the thigh with pretend irritation. Jisung thinks it’s annoying his friends he likes best. 

Out of nowhere, Seungmin squeezes Jisung’s hand that hid in the pocket of his coat seeking warmth. Jisung raises his eyebrows in question but when he turns to look at Seungmin, he’s sitting there stiff and tense, with his eyes fixed on the ground, and seems to not even realize he’s holding Jisung’s hand so tightly. 

“You alright?” Jisung asks, voice quiet, resting his cheek on Seungmin’s shoulder so no one else hears them. 

“Of course,” Seungmin lies and it’s so clear but Jisung lets him. He puts on a smile so convincing it might deceive everyone—everyone, but not Jisung. Jisung knows him too well. Jisung is his best friend. 

For the same reason he doesn’t even try to push or pry—Jisung only slots their fingers together where their hands are hidden in the pocket of Seungmin’s coat and squeezes. Once, twice, maybe ten thousand times. Just to let Seungmin know he can tell Jisung whenever he’s ready—if he’s ready. For the gentle, unforced smile that he sends Jisung, it seems that he understands. 

“If you make me sit here a minute longer my ass will literally freeze off,” Seungmin says, rolling his eyes in that playful manner that somehow has them all standing up in an instant. And if Jisung doesn’t let go of his hand until they’re seated in class, no one mentions it/ 

Jisung comes back home earlier that day—the history teacher concluded there was no point in having them do practice exercises when their minds were thousands of miles away and dismissed them before someone fell asleep in the class.

Shoes on the shelf in the hallway surprise him and Jisung trots to the living room, uncertain, not really expecting to see his parents so soon. But they’re here—like always immersed in some paperwork, but this time they both lift their heads when he enters the room. 

“Jisung-ah, good morning,” his mother greets but there’s nothing Jisung can read from it; he answers with a nod, not really sure if he should sit down on the couch and talk about school, if he should ask about work and the firm or if he should just suggest he’ll order dinner. 

Jisung just doesn’t know how to act around them.

It seems like every time they come back home, they’re different people; it’s always tip-toeing—maybe they’re back so soon because something bad happened, maybe they’ll be nice and interested in what’s going on in Jisung’s life, maybe they’re here just to grab some documents and they’ll leave before he even gets to say hi. 

Jisung lifts the corners of his mouth to keep from appearing impolite, then heads for the stairs, not really feeling like solving the puzzle that is his parents. He doesn’t even take a few steps and hears his father’s voice coming from the living room, making him stop in his tracks. 

“Housekeepers arrive at one, so stay out of their way.”

Jisung lets out a deep sigh, trying his best to push the growing irritation far, far, far away. Without turning to face his parents, he asks, “Why are they coming?” 

“You should start using an agenda like a good, young businessman. Did you forget about tomorrow’s banquet? Everything needs to shine,” his mother says. Jisung feels like puking at her words but he doesn’t want to give the housekeepers any more work. “I’ve sent you a message.” 

“You haven’t.”

Jisung hasn’t gotten a message or a call from his parents in four months, but it’s not like he’s counting.

He rolls his eyes, glad they can’t see that because they would probably ground him (and wouldn’t even supervise him, since they’ll be gone in a few days and Jisung will be home alone once again). 

“Well,” his mother begins, not caring even a tiny bit, “Now you know, so prepare well…”

_ And don’t embarrass us. _

Jisung knows this part all too well, so—before the desire to remark “Why didn’t you write it down in your agenda, mommy?” gets unbearable—he marches out of the living area and rushes up the stairs to his room. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Jisung slams the door shut behind him. 

He doesn’t have the strength—physical or mental—to take care of his homework or studies so he decides that’s it for the day. Climbing into his bed and clumsily taking his pants off just to stay in his underwear, Jisung slides underneath the soft duvet and covers himself from head to toe. A tired sigh slips past his lips. 

Jisung’s parents somehow manage to make him upset, only deepening his bad mood; as if they’re monsters sucking in all the remnants of positive energy. Jisung sometimes catches himself wishing they would never come back. It’s stupid and Jisung feels bad right after but the thought is still there—in the back of his head, resurfacing during his worst moments. 

He knows it’s just the loneliness speaking—Jisung is so grateful for them but sometimes it feels like he doesn’t even have parents. And when they finally come back home, they always say something that gets to him; something that wraps a hand around Jisung’s throat and doesn’t let him forget. 

Jisung isn’t a young businessman. He’s a teenager, a high school student that’s just trying to please everyone non-stop. He’s unsure and hesitant and feels uncomfortable around most people his parents hang out with. He’s just a damned kid. He’s not supposed to work yet, he’s not a born chairman and he’s not interested in architecture or business or finances. 

Maybe his parents are accommodated, are alright with being in a different city, different country, different continent every day, with planning and having millions of visions for new projects but Jisung isn’t. Jisung wouldn’t be able to handle it all.

Even if he could manage to balance it all at first, he knows he’d quickly burn out. Everything would become overwhelming and Jisung wouldn’t be able to take that. He likes the quiet afternoons at home and spontaneous outings with his friends, lazy mornings and learning life. 

Maybe Jisung still doesn’t know what exactly he wants to do in the future but he’s still young—he might choose one thing and he might go and do a bunch of different, unrelated things. One thing he knows is that he doesn’t want to dedicate his entire life to running the family business. 

It’s a pity that what he wants just doesn’t really matter. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The next morning begins quite well. Jisung can finally get enough sleep for his mind and body to rest after the entire week of school. Reluctantly, however, he gets out of bed around noon. Knowing well what’s awaiting, Jisung wants nothing more than to just lock himself in his bedroom and to disappear, at least for one day. 

He leaves his room, stopping in the hallway to listen and see if his parents are downstairs or if they are not home at all. He can hear rustling and murmurs from the office, though, so he assumes they’re both there. Steps slow, Jisung heads to the kitchen and pours himself a mug of strong coffee. He doesn’t feel like having anything else so he takes the mug and goes back to his room. 

Even though the mess in his bedroom that’s been forming for several days hasn’t bothered him before, Jisung feels a sudden need to clean. (It’s his way to deal with stress, Jisung learns.) He plugs his phone into the speakers, not caring about disturbing someone. If his parents have something against his music, they can leave and go work in the company building. It’s not like it will make any difference.

Jisung snorts and starts picking clothes off the floor. Those that don’t stink he throws onto his bed, the rest—that might be lying there for a long, long time—he dumps into one pile and then shoves it all into the laundry basket.

Much better. 

Jisung opens the window, letting the cold fall air in to give him chills. Despite the wind, it looks set to be a sunny day. At least that much. Jisung feels much better with nice weather outside.

Cleaning his desk—dealing with all the scattered books, papers and pens—doesn’t take him long. He aligns his swivel chair and fights the urge to rest—if he sits down now, all the motivation to be productive will fly out of the open window. With a sigh, Jisung makes his bed, though he’s sure he’ll jump right under the covers as soon as he finishes tidying up. 

Despite all of this, he still hasn’t gotten rid of the stress. That’s why Jisung marches into the bathroom, thinking it’s the greatest idea ever to actually take care of it too. He empties the drawers and wipes them with a wet cloth, then proceeds to rearrange all his cosmetics.

When Jisung is cleaning the bottom drawer under the sink, he finds brown hair dye inside. It’s a surprise, really—he forgot about it already—but, suddenly very motivated to take care of every possible aspect of his life, he mumbles to himself and gets up from his knees to take a look in the mirror.

His roots are already showing a lot and the light blond is fading; Jisung wonders how come he hasn’t paid attention to it before if he feels so bad about how his hair looks now. It’s stupid but Jisung doesn’t want to appear like he isn’t taking care of himself. Especially not during the evening banquet. 

Jisung may hate all these fake people and stiff conversations on topics he doesn’t care about, but he’s still the son of some of the city’s most important people and doesn’t want to be seen as messy. He can’t embarrass his parents. 

The rational part of his mind keeps telling him he’s overreacting but, as he’s already in the middle of preparing the dark hair dye, it doesn’t really matter. Jisung carefully applies the dye to his wet hair and even though it looks like he was licked by a huge dog, he finds it good to go back to his natural color.

Jisung doesn’t leave his bedroom until the evening. He spends the rest of his day watching CSI Miami and eating sweets he found in the drawers of his desk while he was cleaning. His parents don’t look for him, either, so he apparently isn’t needed for anything.

But when he hears a car pulling on the driveway through the window, he knows it’s starting. He watches for a moment as the staff brings huge amounts of food inside the house, then heads to the bathroom to start getting ready.

Jisung puts on a black shirt with a floral pattern on one of the long sleeves and elegant black pants that nicely hug his legs. A golden pendant shines on his neck, both his hands feel heavier with the excess of rings. Freshly dyed hair Jisung parts down the middle to reveal a little bit of his forehead. He puts on a smile to practice, so it doesn’t look forced later, and spins to evaluate his appearance in the mirror. 

Jisung feels good—feels alright, and that’s most important. All he has to do is smile, pretend to be interested and greet all guests with overwhelming politeness. Jisung can do that. Jisung can handle it. 

Some time later, he gets a message from Hyunjin saying that he’s already there downstairs, waiting. Jisung directs a fleeting glance at his reflection, takes a deep breath (or ten) and rushes out of his bedroom toward the stairs. What he finds takes his breath away. 

Golden lights are intertwined on the stair railing. Most of the other lights—like the chandelier downstairs—cast a warm hue over the house but at the same time it’s not too bright. 

Jisung walks down the stairs, stopping by the base. Marble floors are polished so precisely that he can see his own reflection without straining his eyes. Frames of the paintings on the walls have been cleaned and they seem to have regained their former, golden shine.

Everything is exactly like that—golden. Rich, magnificent. Overwhelming.

Jisung clears his throat. 

In the middle of the living area—or what’s left of it, really—stands a huge table that Jisung has never seen before. It’s all set—filled with food, drinks, alcohol and Jisung thinks he can see a chocolate fountain, but before he can take a better look, someone grabs his arm. 

“Your parents really went all in,” Hyunjin tells him when Jisung turns, his eyes still sweeping over the entire place. 

If Jisung—who actually resides in this house and sees it everyday—is astounded, he can’t even imagine what Hyunjin really thinks. What other guests might think. 

His parents actually went all in and that exact thought is what makes Jisung acknowledge the strange anxiety coiling around his mind—slowly but persistently, just beginning to creep up. Their banquets are usually worthwhile, loud, sumptuous but this time they’ve outdone themselves. It means something but Jisung doesn’t know what exactly. 

“Wait—damn!” Hyunjin’s mouth falls open as his eyes dart back to Jisung. His hand flies to Jisung’s head, patting him right on the crown. “When did that happen? Wow. You look pretty.” 

Jisung smiles in thanks, knowing Hyunjin doesn’t expect an answer. They both watch the growing crowd in the living area. 

“You wanna grab something to eat? I’m basically starving. Dad said he wouldn’t be cooking since we’re coming here,” Hyunjin complains, already walking toward the enormous table. Jisung shakes his head in amusement, following in step. 

People dressed in designer suits, dresses, and sparkling jewelry keep walking in through the front door, glimmering in the golden hue like they belong. Jisung only steals glances over his shoulder. He barely recognizes any of them. 

He’s really doing his best to listen to Hyunjin but the anxiety of inevitable interactions with snobbish bastards gets the better of him. Jisung tries to stand straight, keeping the slight smile on his lips even though his entire body is trembling behind the mask. These things—the banquets, meetings, campaigns, especially those taking place at his home—are always tiring. 

Jisung knows Hyunjin knows he’s not into conversations but is still talking about everything but the banquet and business and money, trying to distract him. Jisung wishes it was working. 

Hyunjin quickly gets scooped up by his parents who—before disappearing to introduce Hyunjin to some of their friends—compliment Jisung’s new hair, agreeing that he looks lovely no matter the color. Jisung thanks them with a smile more natural than the one he’s been wearing for the entire evening. Even though he knows they’re clearly exaggerating, their words still make him feel good and actually lift his mood up a tiny bit. 

The pleasant feeling flies out of the window, disappears into thin air when Jisung turns around and his eyes land on Lee Minho entering through the front door. It can’t get any worse from here. The entire evening is completely ruined. The only way out is running away before Minho notices him and descending into despair. 

(Jisung has a flair for the dramatic.) 

His heartbeat accelerates when their eyes meet and Minho immediately begins striding his way. Jisung should walk away. He should hide in the most remote corner of the mansion and pretend he doesn’t exist. Who’s Han Jisung anyway? 

But Jisung can’t walk away. His feet don’t move an inch, as if they’re glued to the floor, and Jisung just can’t fucking move. 

Minho looks better. The ugly bruise has faded to nothing under his eye (or is hidden well under foundation) and his lips seem to have healed, too. Jisung lets his eyes linger on the cut across Minho’s cheek; after those few days it looks only like a scrape. 

Minho snatches a glass of champagne off the passing waiter’s tray with agility and—coming to a pause right next to him—hands it to Jisung, not saying anything. 

Jisung stares at the glass for a moment before downing the sparkling champagne in one go. To relax. To cheer up. To feel a little braver. To have something to blame things on. 

“Whoa,” Minho mumbles, speaking up for the first time. He watches Jisung with sheer amusement, a strange glint in his eyes. Jisung doesn’t know if he likes it. “I despise these parties too but is it that bad?” 

Jisung hopes he won’t choke on his own lies. “Me, I actually love them. Everything’s just so…”  _ Overwhelming.  _ “Familiar.” 

Minho raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t look like he believes Jisung but it’s not like he has any other choice. He should be happy Jisung hasn’t thrown him out yet. 

“But you—you’re ruining the aesthetics,” Jisung mutters, words barely forming in his mouth as he eyes Minho up. 

He’s wearing dark jeans and a black shirt with his typical leather jacket draped over his shoulders. In comparison to all the businessmen dressed in suits, Minho looks strange. But Jisung can only guess it’s exactly what he was going for. 

Minho snorts. “I’m wearing a shirt, can’t you see?” 

“Just admit you need to stand out or you’ll flip.”

“I admit,” he says, nodding.

Jisung raises his eyebrows in surprise. He hasn’t thought Minho will actually agree with him. Ever. Looking up, he notices the dashing, yet harmless smile wandering across Minho’s face.

Weird. He’s weird. Everything is just so weird. 

“But this time you beat me to it. The hair thing is on purpose, right? So everyone’s looking just at you?” 

“Must be hard to notice if these people don’t really see me on a daily basis.”

“Come on,” Minho tilts his head to the side, loose strands of perfectly styled hair falling over his forehead. “If someone’s as pretty as you, people will stare even if they don’t know you.” 

Jisung looks away. He puts his glass to his mouth, fingers tight around the stem and it’s only when he tilts it, he remembers it’s already empty. Jisung sets it down on the table with embarrassment. 

Immediately he realizes it’s a mistake—he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Jisung actually doesn’t know what to do at all. 

“When someone compliments you, it’s polite to say thanks. I didn’t think I’d be the one teaching you this stuff,” Minho tells him, a playful note in his voice.

Jisung dares to lay his eyes on Minho again, but this time he doesn’t look away. He can’t bring himself to.

Minho—Minho is outdoing himself with every word he speaks. 

“Thank you,” Jisung breathes, sincerely.

Minho sends him a smile—that’s surprisingly genuine—and grabs a drink from the table, something colorful and sparkling but Jisung has a hunch it’s nothing alcoholic. He drinks what’s left in his glass, turning to the side to sweep his gaze over the room. Jisung can’t help but stare at his side-profile, only hoping Minho doesn’t notice. 

“I think your mom is—” Minho starts, but is cut off.

“Jisung!” calls someone and it’s indeed his mom. She’s standing with her husband and a man accompanied by a girl that Jisung doesn’t recognize.

She stares them down, eyes lingering on Minho for a moment longer, not even bothering to hide her disgust at his presence. Knitting her eyebrows, she waves her hand, calling Jisung to come join them. 

Jisung doesn’t know why her reaction to Minho is bothering him so much but the look she gave them leaves an unpleasant sting in his belly. It’s like she’s burned a hole he can’t even try to hide. 

Minho doesn’t look annoyed. More amused, as if the fact that Jisung’s mother hates him this much is so funny. Maybe it is. Maybe her disgust means nothing to her. Why would it even mean something?

“I think she might rip me to pieces if you don’t go,” says Minho, when Jisung remains standing still by his side. 

Jisung feels weird knowing he doesn’t really want to go. But he has to. 

He can’t embarrass his parents. 

Jisung doesn’t grace Minho with a look before leaving him alone, but he feels his intense gaze on his own back. He approaches his parents, hesitant, letting his mother squeeze his arm. Not in a gesture of support. 

Jisung forces a smile and can only hope his interlocutors won’t realize how he’d rather be anywhere but here. Seriously, Jisung would even prefer to have a conversation with Minho. Maybe. 

One glance is enough to tell that both him and the girl standing by his side (that’s actually named Chaeryeong, as Jisung learns) feel awkward. She’s playing with her fingers—not as discreetly as she thinks—most likely because of the nerves and Jisung wonders if she cares about all the business stuff their parents are talking about as little as he does. 

Jisung sends her a slight smile, trying to convey the understanding, but he might be bad with expressions because Chaeryeong looks away. 

Well. Jisung doesn’t even get a moment to dwell on it because his father is turning his way to ask, “What do you think about setting up an apartment building with Pearson-Lee?” 

Jisung thinks nothing. He has no idea what the hell all this is about, because—although his parents want to introduce him to the family business at all costs—no one ever tells him things. It’s not like his parents can do that, either. They spend most of their time flying around the world, afterall. 

His mother shoots him discreet urging glances, lest their friend notices Jisung’s  _ ignorance _ . 

“As long as no natural environment is destroyed, building new things is always a good idea,” Jisung ends up saying. 

Chaeryeong’s father bursts out laughing as if Jisung has just told him a joke of the century. Jisung’s mother is quick to join him, though it’s so evident she’s forcing it. His father busies himself with drinking champagne, most likely avoiding saying something that might either threaten the fusion of their companies or annoy Jisung. 

“You can’t always protect all the little flowers and trees,” the other man mocks.

Jisung raises his eyebrows, not even trying to hide the irritation and disappointment. He’s aware the man thinks of him as just the kid who doesn’t know the reality and lives in his imaginary world where everything is achieved with kindness and love. Stupid move. 

“No, you can’t. But you should try, because those little flowers and trees give you oxygen that lets you and all the people you’re employing live. And those people bring you money, and you can’t really do without money, can you?” 

The older man presses his lips together into a thin line, grip tightening on his glass of whiskey. Jisung tilts his head to the side, face lighting up with a smile  _ too _ friendly. 

“That’s quite a kid you’ve got here, Miyeong.” 

Jisung’s parents don’t reprimand him when Chaeryeong and her father leave to talk to someone else, but he can’t say he wasn’t expecting just that. However, he stands aside while they’re talking to other friends, bored. He doesn’t understand much of their conversation either because they speak Mandarin, so it’s not like he can join them. 

Later, he has to listen to stock market analysis and a pretty refreshing topic about international football tournaments. Jisung isn’t even a fan but every subject seems better than the continuous talk about money. 

Nam, Kwon, Prescott, Huang, Shin, Harding, Avery. Jisung is trying really hard to remember them all, to assign faces to names, names to fields. His brain seems to blow up every time someone new stops by to have a chat, though. 

The Kwons seem to like Jisung a lot. They can’t stop gushing about his pretty face and his (pretend) interest in the family business despite his young age; endlessly praise their home decor and even say that it’s the best banquet they’ve been to recently. Jisung’s mom hasn’t smiled that wide in quite a while. 

In reality, every banquet is the same—it’s an attempt to conclude new fusions, but most of all it’s the fulfillment of the desire to show off assets and management skills. 

Jisung’s cheeks hurt from all the fake smiling when he steps aside to have a drink. He might’ve pulled a muscle or something. Maybe this will get him to the hospital and he won’t have to stay here, at the banquet. That’s one hell of a dream. 

He tries to relax his face without making any weird expressions but the discomfort just doesn’t go away. Yeah, that’s definitely what Jisung needs now. 

He spends a short while looking around the living room because he needs to go back to his parents so they don’t get unnecessarily angry. He finds them in the same spot, talking to an older woman. Jisung recognizes her—remembers her from other banquets. 

When she sees him approaching, she purses her lips in discontent. Jisung suddenly feels like spilling wine all over the damned shawl she wants everyone to notice so badly. 

“Jisung—you remember Miss Min Insook, right?” his mother asks when Jisung comes to a stop next to them.

He knows there’s no right answer other than ‘of course, she’s impossible to forget’ but he decides against the unspoken rules. He twists his face in a crooked smile, indifferent to the resentment emanating from the older woman. “It’s very nice to see you.”

She doesn’t answer. 

She turns to his father, though, as if she thinks Jisung isn’t even worthy of her gaze. (It’s not like he’s going to complain.) Her opinion, nor any words spilling out of her lips painted with bright lipstick matter to Jisung, so he stops listening to her waffle as soon as she opens her mouth.

Jisung’s gaze glides over the living room as he’s looking for Hyunjin in the thinning crowd.

It’s getting late. Many people have left the property immediately after talking to his parents, but Jisung isn’t really surprised. He’d run away, too, if only he could. 

“You should be listening. Maybe you would finally learn something.”

Jisung turns his head towards Min Insook; she’s glaring at him just because she can, apparently. He doesn’t know how he’s ever wronged her but she’s been mean to him for as long as he can remember. For an adult who prides herself on her class and refinement, she’s behaving quite childishly.

“I am listening. I’m just tired,” Jisung admits, not even hoping she’ll understand. 

Min Insook huffs and takes a good sip of wine from her glass. “There’s no time for being tired in business! How are you going to work all day?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “What a brat!” 

Jisung sets his jaw, relaxing it just to send her a faux smile dripping with anger, in his head already planning her murder. Impudent beldame. 

“Do you even know what is going on in the firm? What offers have come from abroad? What is the budget for the hotel in Busan? Is the competition planning something? Do you know  _ anything _ ?” she asks in a sonorous voice, face twisted in a snide grimace.

Jisung wonders how the hell she even knows it all and why is she so interested in their firm. Despite his anger and wanting to take her down a peg, Jisung doesn’t know. He’s got no idea how to answer. But he looks her in the eye, bold, and she only raises an eyebrow and shifts her gaze to his father, unimpressed. 

“When you retire, you should sell the company. You’ve spoiled this brat too much and now has no idea what hard work is,” she sneers. 

Heat rises to Jisung’s cheeks, face burning red. He sets his glass down on the table with a thud and turns on his heel, stopping himself from tearing Min Insook apart. Her audacity! 

“Fucking old hag,” he mumbles under his breath, picking up the pace. 

Instead of going to his bedroom as he originally wanted, Jisung makes his way to the terrace, sliding the glass door aside and taking a deep breath as a wave of cold air hits his face.

Undoing the first two buttons of his shirt, he flops at the edge of the pool, cross-legged. He tilts his head back, breathing and breathing and breathing.

Jisung has had enough. 

He’s going to school, studying, trying his best to at least follow the projects the company is taking on but he’s no businessman. Jisung is a damn teenager—why should someone hold him accountable for things that aren’t really his job to know?

Despite everything, Jisung feels ashamed. Ashamed because Min Insook humiliated him in her own, twisted way. Ashamed because he should know about the things she was asking. Ashamed, because he did the thing his mother always forbade him to do—embarrassed them.

It’s nothing bad if there’s one person with an unfavorable opinion about him. But if this one person is Min Insook, who has the entire city in the palm of her wrinkled hand, things are getting a little more complicated. 

Jisung exhales with a whistle. He hears the voices and music from inside growing louder as the terrace doors slide open, and fading away when they close again. Footsteps. 

Jisung’s heart skips a beat. He knows who it is. And when this person sits down beside him without a single word, the smell of their citrus perfume hits him harder than the sharp night wind. 

“Are you here to make fun of the fact that I can’t handle it?” 

Jisung’s voice sounds more bitter than usual, when he’s talking to Minho. His leg jitters with nervousness or maybe with the cold—he isn’t that sure—and the fingers of his right hand clutch his thigh, digging into it like it’s the anchor keeping him from sinking. Or from going absolutely insane. 

“I’m here to tell you that I admire how you can pretend you belong here so well.”

Jisung doesn’t answer and keeps his face impassive—Minho probably doesn’t think his words impress Jisung much but they definitely do. His words, unfamiliar, spark a flame of interest. 

Minho doesn’t know him. Why is he saying these things? 

Silence falls over them, disrupted only by the sound of cars passing on the other side of the fence and the buzz of garden lights. It’s strange—not uncomfortable, but strange. 

Jisung is staring into the clear pool water and Minho thinks he won’t be hearing anything else from him this evening. But then Jisung opens his mouth again and his voice is weak, strained, as if he himself isn’t convinced if it’s alright to speak.

“I need to fit in—I need to belong here because it’s what they expect.”

Hearing him like this—Jisung allowing Minho to hear him like this is surprising. 

“Everyone will have their own expectations of you,” Minho ends up saying. Jisung finally looks up, letting their eyes meet. “It doesn’t mean you’re obligated to live up to them.”

Jisung can’t tear his gaze away. Minho is just sitting here, leaning back, with his hands resting on the stone slabs of the patio. His eyes glimmer with the reflection of lights surrounding the garden. They’re gentle. Clear. As if Jisung can see Minho as he is, real. 

His head feels dizzy. 

Jisung makes the effort to twist his lips in a crooked smile. “It’s clever but I don’t think I’ve got a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice,” Minho tells him, face blank. “You’re just too afraid of the consequences.”

Jisung averts his eyes for Minho’s fierce gaze that seems to be doing everything to reach his soul. To take over it. To strip it off rules it knows well. To shred it to pieces and leave helpless. 

He trembles. 

“I love my parents and the last thing I want is to let them down. I can’t.”

Minho is silent for a while. He’s silent for so long that Jisung turns to make sure he’s actually beside him; that Minho isn’t a stupid figment of his imagination. 

But he’s still there, sitting in the same position, too close yet too far, with his face tilted up towards the sky. 

“And are they worth sacrificing your own dreams for?” he finally says, voice so confident and calm that Jisung feels a shiver running down his spine. “ _ You _ are the most important person in your life.” 

_ Ba-dump. _

Minho shifts his lazy, half-lidded gaze to Jisung, tilting his head to the side. Without a hint of a smile, face lit up with golden garden lights, eyes full of stars. He’s sitting here, right beside Jisung, on the stone slabs and making Jisung freeze when their eyes meet. 

“What’s with your cheek?” Jisung asks, not really feeling like talking about his parents anymore. Minho doesn’t know his situation; he can’t just put himself in Jisung’s shoes and act like he’s omniscient. He has no damn idea about things. 

Minho—as if it’s automatic—lifts his hand to skim his fingers over the scar. “Just a scratch,” he answers shortly but, by the change in his expression—by the way he puts on that impassive facade—Jisung knows it’s not everything. 

“It looked like someone slit it with a knife.” 

It’s not his business, just how Jisung’s family isn’t Minho’s business but Jisung can’t stop himself. And he sees how much Minho wants to look away; how he wants to stop staring at Jisung’s defiant face; how he wants to avoid his astute stare; how he wants to win over him, convince Jisung he’s telling the truth.

Too bad Jisung isn’t buying any of it. 

“You fantasize too much.” 

Jisung huffs, finally turning away to face the pool again. If Minho doesn’t want to tell him, it’s whatever—Jisung doesn’t even want to know. What does it matter to him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Minho is a nobody. And, no matter how inquisitive Jisung is—he can do without this useless information. 

“Are you free next Saturday?” Minho asks unawares.

It catches Jisung off guard. He looks at Minho with raised eyebrows just to see him put on that annoying cheeky smile. 

“To work on the project. Not for a date—”

“I am,” Jisung cuts in. The growing heat on his ears makes him uncomfortable. He shifts, straightening up. “We should go there before noon so we don’t get stuck in the traffic. I’ll pick you up at ten, alright?” 

“Why are we going by your car?” 

Jisung shuts Minho up with one look. “Because I say so.”

Minho raises his hands in surrender, but a mischievous smile lingers on his lips like it’s a natural part of him. Jisung rolls his eyes, yet he doesn’t feel annoyed, not in the slightest. For a time spent with someone he doesn’t like, it’s quite tolerable to sit like this. Jisung just hopes it will stay like this until they’re done with the project. He doesn’t care what happens after; Jisung just doesn’t want to see Minho again—there’s no reason to see him again. 

“I think I’m gonna get going,” Minho states quite suddenly.

Jisung nods and stands up as well, brushing dust off the back of his thighs. They stand there for a moment, for no reason. Jisung doesn’t lift his eyes up from the ground but he can feel Minho’s on him. Shameless. Expectant. 

“Thanks for coming,” Jisung ends up saying. 

Minho chuckles. “Yeah, I think your mom isn’t too happy about it.” 

“She doesn’t have to be.”  _ For you to be wanted here _ . 

Jisung doesn’t know what he’s saying. Thinking. 

He heaves a sigh, ambling toward the door, giving Minho a moment to join him. Through the glass he can see the living room practically deserted by now and, as he slides the door open, Jisung lets Minho in first. 

“Thanks.”

Jisung shrugs.

Theoretically, Minho is a guest—he needs to be treated right. That’s why Jisung walks him to the main door, passing his parents’ bored friends and other invited businessmen Jisung can’t bring himself to care about. 

His hand lingers on the edge of the door as he watches Minho leave without a single word. Abruptly he stops on the steps and turns around, catching Jisung off guard. 

“See you at school,” Minho says, hesitant—and it’s so unlike him. It sounds more like a question, though Jisung has no idea what it implies. 

“Yeah.”

Jisung doesn’t know why he feels warmth spreading in his belly when Minho sends him another smile before shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and striding towards his car. It must be alcohol. What else? His eyelids are closing by themselves, too; Jisung is just really tired. 

As he’s closing the door of his bedroom and stripping off his clothes, then climbing into his bed, Jisung realizes he hasn’t seen Minho’s parents anywhere during the banquet and he’s left in his own car. Strange. 

Jisung is too weary to think about it, though—as soon as his head hits the pillow, he falls asleep, dreaming of being loved. Nothing else he remembers. Just being loved, without any specific reason. 

Maybe this is exactly what he needs. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Jisung spends the entire week buried in books, on video call study dates with his friends and drinking so much coffee that his head just doesn’t stop throbbing. He tries to clog his mind with everything possible, although it doesn’t bring the result Jisung hopes for. 

He just can’t get rid of the anxiety of going to a city more than an hour away from home with Minho,  _ alone _ . His hands tremble at the mere thought but Jisung tries his best to forget; to push it all aside, to shove it into a drawer in a dusty commode, up in the attic, locking it behind the doors and flushing the key down the toilet. 

It doesn’t work. 

But, somehow, Jisung wakes up on Saturday morning feeling well-rested, though he can’t hold back the groan of annoyance upon realizing what day of the week it is. Without any reason not to, he scrambles out of bed, checks the weather forecast and chooses something to wear that suits it.

As for the end of November, it’s going to be quite a sunny day. (Though Jisung is sure that everything will fall apart with Minho’s presence; the sky will get cloudy, with lightning and thunder, and a huge storm will break, destroying the whole world. Yes, definitely.) 

He goes down to the kitchen and, making tea, decides it would be good to bring it along. He fills the thermos and wraps his hands around it, enjoying the pleasant warmth for a short moment. Looking around the kitchen, he doesn’t find any snacks he can take, and Jisung isn’t going to starve on the drip. That’s why he glances at the clock, downs his mug of tea and grabs his bag. After slipping into his jacket and wrapping a scarf around his neck, Jisung leaves his house to climb into his car.

On the way to Minho’s house, he stops by the minimart to buy a sea of snacks and sweets since he doesn’t know what Minho actually likes. Jisung scolds himself for trying to make this trip comfortable—because Minho’s probably plotting how to ruin it—and shoves everything into his bag, leaving it on the backseat.

Fastening his seat belts and starting the engine, Jisung drives to Minho’s neighbourhood. He might’ve been there only once but he remembers it well. The house is still as impressive as on the night of the banquet. 

He pulls up on the driveway and waits. It’s only when Minho doesn’t reply to any of his hurrying messages that Jisung gets out of the car. They’ve agreed to meet at a specific time; Minho should already be waiting. 

Jisung rings the bell, expecting one of Minho’s parents since he’s out of reach and would’ve probably opened the door already if he saw Jisung’s car pulling up, but when the door sweeps open, a kid stands in the way. In his mind, Jisung groans; he doesn’t like children.

The kid—Minho’s brother—eyes him and hesitantly asks, “Who are you?”

Like a murderer or a kidnapper couldn’t say they’re a family friend! Someone seriously needs to teach this boy how to speak to strangers—to not speak. 

“Uh—Jisung. I’m… Minho’s friend. We’re doing a school project together and I’m here to pick him up,” Jisung tells him, putting on a slight smile. 

The kid opens the door wider, and Jisung takes it as an invitation to come in, though he doesn’t feel like being with Minho or in his house any longer than necessary.

He shifts awkwardly, stopping at the base of the stairs. 

“Where are you going? Can I go with?” the kid asks, looking up at Jisung with his enormous, glimmering eyes. He’s dripping with curiosity.

“Um… maybe next time.”

Jisung tries to sound convincing but he doesn’t think he’s doing a good job. The boy doesn’t seem to mind, though, as if he doesn’t even notice and nods his head, excited. Turning away from Jisung, facing the stairs, he takes a deep breath. 

“Minnie! Someone’s here for you!” he shouts; so loud it rings in Jisung’s ears like an echo. 

Then they hear footsteps and Minho appears at the top of the stairs. He looks more casual than Jisung ever remembers him to. 

Black jeans hug his shapely legs and platform boots add a few centimetres to his height. He’s wearing a thick, black shirt with white stripes; underneath a turtleneck of the same color and a coat is draped over his shoulder. 

Jisung clears his throat, blinking. “I sent you a thousand texts that I’m already here,” he says, as if it’s actually a problem.

Minho takes a look at the phone in his hand. “Oh, sorry, I had it charging and didn’t notice.” He shrugs, descending the stairs. He stands in front of the mirror hung on the wall and slips into his coat, running fingers through his hair. “Yunjin will come soon,” he announces, turning to his brother who nods, obedient. 

Minho ruffles his hair—and the kid doesn’t even bat an eye—and heads towards the main door, so Jisung trails behind. Minho lets him go first, holding the door for him. 

“Behave yourself!” he throws over his shoulders to finally shut the door close and follows Jisung to the car. 

In the reflection in the window, Jisung notices that Minho is smiling. He doesn’t know why this sight surprises him like this, but this smile is different to the ones he’s used to seeing on his face. It suits him better than all those smirks and mean grins; Jisung wouldn’t mind seeing this  _ genre _ of Minho more often. 

No.

No, Jisung hasn’t thought about this. It’s ridiculous—it’s nothing more than finding Minho attractive and finding him more attractive when he isn’t a piece of shit. Yes, exactly. 

Shaking his head because of his own stupidity, Jisung finally gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine after making sure Minho’s fastened the seat belts. 

The road to Chuncheon passes in silence—the only thing disrupting it is the music playing on the radio and the GPS navigation Jisung’s turned on his phone. It’s not awkward at all, though, and it’s actually quite surprising.

Minho hums some songs and sings under his breath, though at times he goes silent out of the blue as if he remembers he’s not alone in the car. But Jisung doesn’t mind; maybe it even makes the ride more enjoyable, but it’s not like he’s ever going to admit it aloud. 

“I’m not exactly sure what we’re supposed to look for other than what we’ve got written down but I guess we can just tick off places from the list and take pictures and take notes and… yeah,” Jisung says when they’ve arrived in Chuncheon, feeling like a complete idiot as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

Minho sends him a slight smile, though, saying, “Whatever you want.”

Jisung prefers to assume Minho means he’s the leader of their project pair, so he doesn’t answer. He pulls up on the street parking, quite close to where the ferry to Nami Island departs and they both get out; Jisung uses the map in his phone to lead them to the right spot. 

There are already people on the dock waiting for the next ferry when they get there. While Minho’s checking the exact schedule, Jisung manages to pay the fare. He knits his brows, but doesn’t say anything. 

Another ferry arrives shortly after. The ride takes no longer than five minutes but the boat is extremely crowded. Jisung is only glad that they’ve managed to push to the railings; he can breathe fresh air and snap a few shots to document their trip. 

The metal handrail, however, digs into his stomach and Jisung almost vomits when someone elbows him in the side. Minho asks if he’s feeling well then, so Jisung answers that he’s doing amazing, though the only thing he’s dreaming of is to stand on the ground. 

As they leave the boat, he grabs Minho by the sleeve of his coat. There’s too many people—they might lose each other in the crowd, so Jisung holds onto him and lets Minho lead them to the Island. 

Compared to the noisy and overloaded ferry, the wooded path is quiet and calm. When Jisung reaches out to get his phone out of his coat pocket, he realizes he’s still clinging to Minho. He clears his throat, moving away to pretend he’s very busy taking pictures of a plant he doesn’t even recognize. 

Jisung feels good in nature. Even with the enormous number of tourists, the island seems like an oasis of calm; there’s something in it that makes him relax and, as they begin their walk through the park, taking pictures and recording short videos, Jisung stops treating this trip like a school project. 

They don’t talk much, but Jisung finds the atmosphere extremely comfortable. When Minho finds any sizable plants that fit their project, he calls Jisung to see them himself. They take pictures even of the ground and Jisung decides he’ll look for some information about soil fertility on the Internet so their work is even more varied. 

There’s barely anything to do on the island other than walking around and _ inhaling _ nature. The cool aspect is the animals walking around, not shying away from people. Neither Jisung, nor Minho want to cross paths with ostriches, though, so they only take pictures from afar.

“I’m pretty sure the geese would rip us apart if we came closer,” Minho sneers, nodding toward the pond. 

“No shit,” Jisung huffs, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Geese are frightening. We wouldn’t be able to get away if they attacked us.” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t you wanna take a picture with a sweet little goose for our project’s sake?” 

Jisung takes a sharp breath. He narrows his eyes at Minho, ready to wipe the stupid grin off his face. He lifts his chin high and ambles towards the pond, instantly regretting all life decisions when one of the geese turns towards him, curious. 

All he remembers from an Instagram post about defense against geese is not to turn your back on them and look them in the eye. Assert dominance. He can do that. Of course. Jisung isn’t a coward and definitely not the one to back out; especially when he can see Minho recording him out of the corner of his eyes. Hell only knows where he’d post the video of Jisung trying to run away from wild geese. 

He crouches at a safe distance from the pond, making sure to fit the goose in the frame, and forces a smile to take the photo. Jisung is going to make sure this picture gets onto their presentation. Wanting to send Minho a winning smile, Jisung looks back at him, only to find him already smiling.

Suddenly, Jisung wishes the geese to catch him with their beaks and pull him into the pond. Everything will be better than looking at Minho. 

He clears his throat, tearing his eyes away and directs them to the goose. “Thanks for the picture and sorry for bothering you. Please, don’t kill me,” Jisung keeps mumbling, rising to his feet and walking away while facing the animal. 

The goose takes a step toward him, but then goes back to drinking water from the pond, so Jisung accelerates to get as far away as possible. Minho is covering his mouth with his hand, trying to suppress a laugh when Jisung gets back to him. 

“Oh, come on. Are you jealous that I’m the one making friends?”

Minho tilts his head to the side and the silly grin still doesn’t leave his face. Jisung’s been trying to get rid of it, but it only seems to be growing, and growing, and growing. He hates it. 

“Are you sure it was mutual? Or just one-sided coming from you?” Minho looks somewhere over Jisung’s shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “‘Cause from what I’m seeing, your friend is treading this way and she doesn’t look too happy.” 

Jisung jumps back, automatically grabbing onto Minho to use as a shield against the pissed off goose. Maybe she just drank some water to gain strength and harm him even more. Jisung has never thought about dying this way; what are they going to engrave on his tombstone? ‘Murdered by a wild goose while working on a school project.’ 

However, when he looks at the pond from over Minho’s shoulder, the goose is staggering in the opposite direction. Jisung can’t believe he fell for it. What a pathetic and embarrassing day. Definitely not his best. 

Jisung resists the urge to dig his fingers into Minho’s shoulder in revenge and just detaches from him, rushing down the path, leaving the laughing boy behind. 

“Hey, come on, wait for me!” 

Jisung quickens his pace, but Minho catches up with him anyway. He knows the whole situation isn’t serious, but he doesn’t want to give Minho satisfaction, so he keeps a straight face.

They stroll down the stone path in silence, passing other tourists and wild animals, before Jisung breaks it, asking, “Do you want to eat something? We could finally sit down and rest.” 

Minho agrees with a nod, so they head to one of the benches and sit down. Jisung moves his bag to his lap, taking out everything he’s bought to set it in the space between them. 

“Um… it’s nothing filling but…” he trails off. 

“Ah, no, don’t worry. It’s nice you even thought about bringing something. If we’re hungry later, we can stop somewhere on our way back,” Minho shrugs. 

Jisung hasn’t thought about it. He hasn’t really realized it’s getting late and they have quite a long way back. His gallery is full of photos and videos, notes—though only summaries and random sentences—a decent backbone of their work. Their project is almost ready.

“Do you want some tea?” Jisung asks. Minho looks up from his phone, munching on a waffle. “Didn’t know what flavour you might like so I just brought black.”

The corners of Minho’s lips curl up in a slight smile as he nods, so Jisung pours some tea from his thermos into one of the collapsible silicone cups he’s brought along and watches Minho take a sip and shudder. 

“Are you cold?” he asks, only then realizing that Minho isn’t wearing either a hat, or a scarf. It might be sunny but it isn’t any less chilly.

Minho getting sick is the last thing they need. Because he’d miss their presentation, of course.

Jisung—not thinking much—unwraps the beige scarf off his neck to messily put it around Minho’s. He chuckles, eyes widening with surprise and thanks him. Jisung moves away, feeling warm all over even without his favorite scarf on. Thank heavens for the existence of hot tea. 

Minho stays on the bench but Jisung can’t sit still for too long; he wanders nearby, taking pictures of maple trees, the hallmark of the island. He comes back when Minho calls him to show him pictures he’s taken of the ostriches. 

He sticks his phone into Jisung’s face, eyes attentive as he watches his reaction. Jisung must admit the photos are quite adorable; the ostriches are looking straight into the camera but—in contrast to geese—don’t look like they’re about to rip you to pieces. Sweet. 

“You know,” Minho starts when they’re packing, “we should take a pic together, so it’s more credible. To show the project is really ours.”

Jisung hesitates. He doesn’t know if it’s necessary but Minho is older—maybe he knows better. What if professor Kang won’t accept their project, assuming they visited Chuncheon separately when she considers they’re basically enemies? It’s a possibility, and Jisung doesn’t want to risk their hard work. 

With a sigh, he scoots closer to Minho. He doesn’t miss the way his lips twist in a slight smile, but he’s already got his phone out so it’s probably just for the picture. When it comes to Minho, Jisung is never sure of anything. 

Minho insists on not showing him the picture before he himself doesn’t check them out and send them to him. Jisung doesn’t know why he’s so secretive; it’s just a bunch of pictures and—sooner or later—Jisung will see them while making the presentation so it’s no difference. 

The return ferry is less crowded, but Jisung and Minho stay close anyway. Their shoulders touch when they’re leaning on the handrails and maybe on a different day it’d bother him, but today, Jisung doesn’t feel like moving away. 

Minho says he’ll pay for the parking since Jisung took care of the ferry. Jisung doesn’t even have the time to object because as soon as they get to the car, Minho finds the parking attendant and comes back just as quickly. 

“It’s only fair if I drive us back to Seoul,” he says, as if paying for the parking spot is not enough. Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up. “I can see you’re tired. You can take a nap if you want to.”

It’s a perfect way to convince Jisung to do anything—the prospect of a sweet, afternoon nap. Minho doesn’t look like he’ll take no for no, with his hand already stretched out with a hurrying expression.

Jisung hands him the keys, chewing on his bottom lip. Involuntarily, he thinks back to the party and Minho driving his car, driving him home. Jisung can’t ever get away from these thoughts. 

Even though the original plan is to nap, Jisung doesn’t fall asleep at all. It’s not like he doesn’t want to or can’t—soft playlist spills through the speakers, enveloping him in something that feels strangely like a nice hug, and Minho is a careful driver; Jisung’s conditions are perfect for napping. 

Jisung, however, leans against the window and watches Minho through a half-lidded gaze. His eyes are focused, not straying off the road even for a second. His features seem even sharper than usual. Jisung is pretty sure Minho’s side profile would fit into those perfect proportions he’s seen on the Internet a million times.

Jisung would never admit it aloud but Minho is a pretty pleasant sight to see. He’s sickeningly beautiful.

And, with the fading sunset in the background, he looks downright majestic. 

“I can feel you staring.”

Jisung ignores the rush of heat on his flushing ears and keeps his eyes on Minho, provocative, daring. “And what about it?” 

Minho only chuckles, shaking his head. Jisung hates himself for not being able to stop about how obnoxiously hot he is. He grabs his phone to do something other than mindlessly stare at Minho like Jisung only has eyes for him, but he can’t find anything that draws his attention for longer than two seconds. He leans back on the headrest, then, but he doesn’t really try to fall asleep. 

Despite the rolled up windows, Jisung can hear the air rustling louder and louder as the car accelerates on the highway. He sneaks a glance to the side, at Minho, just to shift it back to the window a second later; Jisung has no idea if it’s the car or his heart going thousands of miles a minute. 

They get to Seoul with the last rays of sun slipping below the horizon and it’s only then that Minho speaks again. 

“So…” he starts, clearing his throat once again. “Are you ready to talk about the kiss?” 

_Ba-dump._

“What?” Jisung asks dumbly. He’s actually baffled and not being able to read anything off Minho’s face only tightens the knot around his stomach. 

“You lied,” Minho mutters after a moment of silence that fell over them when the playlist playing through the speakers came to an end. “You told me you were drunk, and—no matter how much you wanna believe I am—I’m not stupid, Jisung. I kissed you. If you were drunk, I’d know.” 

Jisung sits there, dumbfounded, not knowing what to say. He presses his lips into a thin line, eyes burning holes in the dashboard, hoping Minho will drop the topic. And preferably never speak to him again. 

He doesn’t understand why Minho is even bringing it up. It’s not like Jisung is his first kiss or someone meaningful—Jisung is a stranger or his school project partner, at best. The kiss was nothing—it means absolutely nothing. 

“You’re not going to say anything?” Minho asks, sounding outright disappointed. Something in Jisung’s stomach twists. “It’s just so fucking childish. Lying, too, but this—wow.” 

Jisung turns his head to the side, fixing Minho with a glare, irritation growing in his stomach, spreading and spreading to take over his entire body. He can almost feel it all the way in his fingertips; sparks flying. 

He’s not childish. He’s mature. Jisung plays around a lot and does things that could use some more thinking but he’s far from childish. Minho has no rights to say these things. 

“I’m not childish,” Jisung sputters but Minho doesn’t even grace him with a glance. One of his eyebrows shoots up in doubt, though, riling him up further. Out of the blue, Jisung huffs and drawls out, “Stop right here.” 

“What?” 

He takes a deep breath. “Stop here. I want to get out.” 

“I don’t know if you realize, but this is your car.” 

Minho glances at him out of the corner of his eye with his jaw set and gaze fixed on the road. No matter how much he wants to look at Jisung, he just can’t. 

“I don’t care. Stop the car. I don’t want to be anywhere near you.” 

Minho blinks, and the clear expression Jisung has been watching on his face for the entire day disappears. He twists his lips in a mocking smile and says, “You’re kinda proving my point here.” 

“If you don’t stop, I’ll literally open the door and jump out.”

Minho thinks Jisung is insane. He’s absolutely fucked in the head, but Minho still doesn’t want anything to happen to him. And if Jisung gets this mad over stupid little things like this, he can as well jump out of a speeding car.

“Let me drive you home. It’s not that far.”

He looks like he’s about to protest so Minho presses the button and locks the door with one swift movement. 

Jisung lets out an exaggerated groan. “Did you just—”

“Yes. I’m not letting you jump out of the car,” Minho tells him. He sounds more gentle than a moment before but it doesn’t make Jisung any less mad. “People would definitely say I pushed you out to kill you or something.”

Jisung shakes his head so Minho doesn’t see the smile that threatens to spread across his lips because of his pathetic attempt to lighten the mood. 

“Drive to your house,” Jisung tells him, trying his best to coat his voice with annoyance. It’s stupid that his anger fades this quick when it comes to Minho. “You’re not walking home when it’s already gotten dark.” 

None of them speaks up when Minho pulls up on the driveway of his house. Jisung wants to get out and change to the driver’s seat and drive away, not sparing the boy who keeps pushing his buttons with one single glance. But Minho doesn’t unlock the door. 

Alright. Jisung doesn’t have any plans. He can sit in this goddamn car for the rest of his life if Minho wants it so bad. 

He apparently doesn’t because,suddenly, he says, “Look at me.”

Jisung huffs, crossing arms over his chest. “I don’t wanna look at you or talk to you or sit here with you. Just—” 

“Alright. I’ll talk, you listen.”

It’s not the alternative Jisung wants. Minho should just shut his mouth and let Jisung leave in peace. What he’s doing is not a part of his plan. 

“I don’t know what I said to make you this mad but I swear I meant no harm. It’s just—” 

He trails off and Jisung takes a chance to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Minho seems to be thinking about what he wants to say, like he’s going over words in his head, trying to pick what’s best. He notices Jisung looking at him—even though Jisung acts like he isn’t staring—and looks up. Their eyes meet but Jisung shifts his gaze to the dashboard. 

“I just don’t know where we stand,” Minho breathes. “I don’t know if I can joke with you. I don’t know if you won’t get mad just because I breathe too loudly—” 

“I don’t get mad over stupid things like these,” Jisung shoots, finding enough courage to look Minho in the eyes. 

“You don’t?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow in doubt. 

He doesn’t. It’s all Minho’s fault. He’s weird. He always infuriates Jisung to the point his heartbeat picks up, blood ringing in his ears and thoughts spin in his head like nonsense interlaced with irritation. These moments come suddenly and are always impossible to handle. 

“Don’t make stupid jokes and I won’t get mad,” Jisung says eventaully, but doesn’t force the stern tone. He heaves a sigh, not knowing what else to say. 

“I’ll try my best.”

Minho sounds quite serious—Jisung can’t help but turn his head to the side and look at him because it’s just weird that Minho can be earnest; a smile wanders on his lips and maybe upon seeing him grinning Jisung wouldn’t be quick to believe him, but it’s faint and soft and Jisung kind of wants to believe him. 

“Cool,” he says then, because nothing smarter comes to his mind. “Can you let me out now?” 

Minho nods, unlocking the car. He gets out but stays standing by the door like he’s waiting; like there’s something else he wants to say. Jisung is too tired to dwell on it and moves past him to climb behind the wheel. Before he can do that, Minho grabs his arm to stop him. 

“If I say something stupid, tell me. Just don’t get angry with me and avoid me or try to jump out of a moving car, ‘cause it won’t change a thing,” he says, eyes not leaving Jisung’s not even for a moment. 

When he lets go, Jisung’s forearm burns; like it wasn’t Minho’s hand that touched it but hellfire. His breath hitches and it’s only when Jisung is in his own bed that he feels like he can finally breathe. His mind, however, can’t escape Minho’s words. They spin and spin and spin, lulling Jisung to sleep. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

After that they don’t speak much. Minho sees Jisung sometimes in the canteen or in the hallways but he doesn’t gather the courage he needs to go up to the library, although he knows it’s definitely where Jisung spends most of his time. They don’t discuss their project or keep in touch, but Minho knows Jisung is going to contact him at some point. That, or he doesn’t want to see Minho and plans to finish everything on his own, just so he doesn’t have to speak to him. 

Minho smiles under his breath.

Jisung is hard to crack sometimes but he likes to think he’s getting better at figuring him out.

He hears footsteps of someone running through the hall and a second later Kyungmin storms into the kitchen. He doesn’t waste time, immediately jumping onto the bar stool by the island. 

“Wah, you made me sandwiches?” he asks, voice dripping with sugar. He doesn’t wait for an answer and reaches to the plate. Before he gets to snatch Minho’s food and run away to his own bedroom, Minho smacks him on the arm. 

“Ya! You can make your own. You’ve been gifted with two perfectly working hands, be grateful and learn to use them,” he tells his brother, pretending to be annoyed at him for attempting to steal his snack. 

He turns away to get some more cheese and make sandwiches so Kyungmin can eat, too, but when Minho goes back to the counter, his brother is already munching on his food. 

“They’re better when you make them, Minnie,” he mumbles, mouth full. 

Minho rolls his eyes. What a brat. 

They hear muffled voices coming from the TV, and Minho’s humming some song he heard on the radio that morning under his breath. He can’t remember the title but it doesn’t stop him from letting it run through his mind non-stop. Annoying. 

Sitting down opposite Kyungmin, Minho begins to eat as well. He refrains from scolding his brother for getting crumbles all over the counter, instead pushing a plate under his nose. Kyungmin twists his face in a grimace and sticks his tongue out at Minho. 

Minho’s glad his brother feels this comfortable with him. If it were their parents having dinner with them, Kyungmin would be a perfect child. Immaculate manners, straight posture, polite smile.

Sickening.

As Minho’s chewing, Kyungmin’s mouth falls open, as if he’s just remembered something. He shoots his brother a questioning look.

“Some guy told me to tell you hello,” Kyungmin says, finally, shifting on the stool. He grabs the jug of orange juice and carefully pours some into a tall glass. 

Minho’s brows furrow in confusion. “What guy?” 

“He told me his name was Eunjun and that he was your friend.”

Minho freezes. He tries to mask his anxiety with a cough so that Kyungmin won’t figure it out but his voice comes out strained. “Where did you see him?” 

“Yunjin told me to cross the road after school because she had to do something and I was waiting by the shop and he came over,” Kyungmin tells him, munching on his sandwich. 

“Did he tell you anything else?” 

“Nope. Just to say hi.” 

Minho takes a deep breath but it does nothing to steady the heart hammering in his chest. The unpleasant feeling of it crashing against his ribcage helps the panic bloom. He puts on a calm expression and adds, “Alright. But you have to tell Yunjin she has to pick you up from the school area and not from anywhere else. Are we clear?” 

Kyungmin nods and quickly finishes eating, thanking Minho for the food and immediately disappearing in the living room to continue watching TV. Minho, with his eyes fixed on the counter, tries to break through the deep mess in his head.

Eunjun has crossed all boundaries approaching Kyungmin. Minho knows his ego is fragile and that every time he’s won, Eunjun wants nothing more than revenge. This way he’s thrown them into an endless circle that Minho is slowly getting fed up with. 

He fights to play. Adrenaline relieves not only physical pain, but also all the worries of the day; it’s only a short moment of bliss but so worth it. With every punch, he unloads, gets rid of the negative energy and forgets about the rest of the world. The only thing that matters is avoiding getting hit too many times.

Chan always jokes that a better way to unwind would be getting a punching bag; at least his face wouldn’t suffer this much. But if there’s no traces and scars on Minho’s face, it will be no use. 

Eunjun’s gone too far. He’s violated an unwritten rule only because he’s feeling humiliated; even with his minions by his side he’s got no chance to take down Minho and Changbin. If he even dares to think so, he’s even more of a fool than he looks. 

Minho won’t let him get away. 

He runs fingers through his hair, shutting his eyes. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. 

Nothing hard. Minho rests his palms on the counter, letting the cold surface bring him back to his senses. He snaps his eyes open, focusing on the garden outside the window. Clouds are completely blocking out the sun and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to get any warmer today. It’s no surprise—along with the arrival of December, you can’t expect anything else. 

Minho heaves a sigh, ambling up the stairs and to his bedroom. He switches the bedside lamp on since it’s getting late quicker now that winter’s approaching. Just as he plops down on his bed, Minho hears his phone chiming with a notification. Plugging his phone out of the charger and seeing who the message is from, he lifts one corner of his mouth up. 

**JISUNG:** tomorrow at 2? 

It’s funny how he doesn’t even have to mention a place for Minho to know where to head; the library has become their notorious meeting place. He answers with a thumbs up emoji and watches the chat for a moment but no other text comes. (Minho shouldn’t be expecting anything.) 

The next day is even worse. Minho finishes classes earlier; before heading to the library to see Jisung, he drives to a minimart to buy some snacks. He didn’t have time to eat breakfast this morning since it took him way too long to get out of bed. The rumbling in his belly is too irritating—Minho doesn’t have any other choice. 

He gets out of the car and dashes through the parking lot. He’s still got time before he needs to get to the library but Minho doesn’t want to be late, not even a second. Jisung might skin him alive. 

Minho heads to the snacks aisle and grabs rice waffles off the shelf without much thinking. When he turns, wanting to make it the other way, he comes face to face with Eunjun. 

Mechanically, Minho rolls his eyes and turns on his heel, deciding it’s better to just ignore him. He doesn’t hide that his blood pressure has skyrocketed but Minho isn’t going to be provoked. Not at all. 

“Oh, you’re leaving already?” Eunjun sneers from behind Minho. “Are you picking up your little brother from school today? Can I go with you,  _ bestie _ ?” 

Minho stops in his tracks, tightening his grip on the packet of waffles and crushing them. He squeezes his eyes shut. With one deep breath, he continues his way through the store. Minho knows Eunjun will give up if he doesn’t react. He’s not worth the anger that begins to flood Minho from inside. 

“Or are you going to see your boyfriend?” 

Minho inhales with a whistle. He clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth grind. He plasters on a grimace of derision and slowly turns to Eunjun, pretending he hasn’t got any impact on him. 

“Do you seriously wanna get beaten up in the middle of a shop? Come on, someone will see and tell your granny,” Minho mocks, tilting his head to the side.

Eunjun tries to keep up appearances but his face grows red, as if he’s running out of air. Minho quirks his lips in a cynical grin. 

“You better watch over your little brother,” Eunjun sputters.

Minho cocks an eyebrow but, despite the impassive facade, his pressure picks up. Blood rings in his ears. Heart painfully crashes against his ribcage.

“We wouldn’t want anything to happen to such a sweet little soul, would we?” 

Eunjun twists his face in a malicious grimace and, as he’s walking past, he bumps his shoulder into Minho’s, ridiculously trying to make him waver. It takes all of Minho to stop himself from knocking Eunjun’s teeth out and selling him a kick straight to the ass when he’s got his back turned. 

Minho swallows and—not buying anything else—with his heart throbbing heads to the cash register and leaves the store. Squeezing his eyes shut, he sees the stars and lets out a groan. He doesn’t mean to land a punch to the wall, but it happens.

Bad idea. 

Minho is fuming but he quickly gets a grip. His knuckles sting with the skin scraped but he grits his teeth, ignoring the discomfort and heads to his car. He sits there for a long moment but can’t seem to calm down. He can’t get rid of the growing anger. Sending a punch to the steering wheel doesn’t help either. 

Minho has no idea how to protect his brother. 

And Jisung. 

Because it’s him who Eunjun must’ve meant. Minho doesn’t surround himself with anyone else and Eunjun knows his friends. It must’ve been about Jisung. 

Minho shudders. 

He runs fingers through his hair and—after taking another deep breath (or ten)—starts the engine, driving out of the parking lot. Going slower than usual, Minho heads back to the school. Throughout the way he keeps praying the anger won’t overtake him again; he’d rather not cause an accident just because he’s stupid. 

He’s lost his appetite, anyway, so he pulls up into his usual parking spot and leaves the rice waffles on the backseat. Dashing to the building, Minho doesn’t even look back. He ignores the students wandering through the hallways and rushes straight to the library, only to find Jisung already there, tucked in the farthest corner of the room, sitting in what seems to be his favorite spot. 

Minho curses under his breath. 

“You’re late,” Jisung only mumbles, not lifting his eyes off the book he’s reading. His cheek is propped on his hand and it doesn’t take a genius to notice he looks tired. 

Minho glances at the screen of his phone and exhales with a whistle. Almost ten minutes. He mumbles an apology and presses his lips into a thin line. Jisung only lets out a sigh, like he’s utterly disappointed but at the same time it’s what he expected, and slides his book to the edge of the table. Reaching out to his bag, he takes out his notes. Minho recognizes this particular notebook so he immediately opens the notes app in his phone for Jisung not to get any more annoyed. 

Jisung clears his throat. “We’ve got a lot of pictures so you can forward them to me and I’ll make the presentation.” 

He slides a hand over the cover of his notebook and looks up but doesn’t meet Minho’s stare. His own is drifting somewhere over Minho’s face, though, like he can’t bring himself to look him in the eye. 

Minho doesn’t know why it annoys him this much but he feels it; feels the irritation coiling in his stomach waking up to take over him once again, this time more powerful. He manages to smother it by swallowing but he can’t get rid of the lump, the stinging feeling in his throat that has appeared and stayed there when Eunjun opened his mouth back in the store.

“—what you want to say… Are you even listening to me?” 

Minho blinks. Even though he nods, Jisung doesn’t look convinced. He lets out a deep sight, words of complaint so evident on the tip of his tongue. 

“You do your part, I’ll do mine. Just prepare what you want to say and forward it to me. I’ll send you what I’ve got when I’m ready.”

Silence falls over them like a heavy cloak. Minho begins to wonder why they are even meeting in the first place. It’s pointless—they could share what they’ve got to say over the phone and it wouldn’t change a thing. If it wasn’t for Jisung, he wouldn’t have had to stay longer at school, wouldn’t have gone to the store, wouldn’t have met Eunjun.

Fucking hell.

Someone’s flipping pages with too much force a few bookshelves behind them and someone else slams the door shut after bidding goodbye to the librarian. 

Minho exhales through his nose. He needs silence. Complete, undisturbed; just for a single moment. Why can’t he get it even in the damned library, where it should be quiet all the time?

“What’s up with your hand?” he hears out of the blue and lifts his head up to look at Jisung. He sounds unsure. As if he doesn’t know if it’s okay to ask. 

It isn’t.

Minho throws him a look that’s supposed to say “figure it out” and sniffles. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve fought with someone again. You don’t scrape your skin like this if you punch someone in the face. It’s fresh—”

Minho can’t hold back. 

“Do you always have to be so nosy? Why the fuck are you always meddling in everything?” Jisung’s mouth falls open but Minho only adds, “I’m very sorry to tell you—because I’m pretty sure no one’s ever dared to tell you before—but you’re madly annoying when you stick your nose into other people’s business.” 

Jisung puffs with disbelief painted all over his face, before he snatches his notebook off the table and haphazardly shoves it into his back. He stills after standing up, as if he wants to say something but eventually he only shakes his head, brows furrowed.

Sliding his chair with force—and not looking back at Minho—Jisung storms out of the library, under his breath muttering something that sounds awfully lot like “fucking dick”.

Minho clenches his jaw. It’s nothing short of a miracle how all the frustration seems to have evaporated into thin air, at the same time flooding him with a sickening amount of guilt. 

“Fuck!” he fumes, hitting the tabletop with the palm of his hand. Impact echoes throughout the library and a chortle breaks out in Minho’s head, voice taunting and too similar to Eunjun’s. 

Minho is fed up with himself. He should’ve held his tongue. Especially when he doesn’t even mean what he’s said. Jisung can be quite annoying with his neverending complaining and searching for reasons to get on Minho’s nerves but he doesn’t deserve Minho letting out his pent up frustration on him. 

He throws his head back, staring at the ceiling. Resting a hand on his forehead, Minho counts to ten to calm himself down. He sits there, in the library now deadly silent, until his phone doesn’t start buzzing.

Not even glancing at the screen, Minho rejects the call and slides the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. He stands up and darts out of the library, not bothering to bid goodbye to the librarian engrossed in his book.

Frigid December air hits Minho in the face when he pushes the main doors open. He’s almost forgotten the days have been getting shorter, hence the temperature dropping so quickly. He hasn’t brought a scarf so he hurries through the courtyard and the parking lot. When he finally climbs into his car, Minho turns up the heating.

The way back home doesn’t take him long, although he’s driving slower than usual. Fingers pattering the steering wheel, Minho taps a rhythm, though the radio remains turned off. He’s overflowing with negative energy; at this point Minho supposes even hearing a song that he doesn’t feel like listening at the moment would set him off. 

Better be safe than sorry. 

Minho dreams of going to sleep. Of making a mug of warm tea beforehand, of locking the door to his bedroom so no one disturbs him, of wrapping himself in a duvet like a cocoon. Of forgetting about everything at least for a few hours. 

But none of this Minho is destined for, apparently. 

He knows his parents are back the moment he opens the front door. Hearing the familiar voices coming from inside the house, Minho stills. Yes, this is exactly what he needs. 

“Minho? Is that you?”

No way. Minho has no mental or physical strength to drag himself through pseudo civil conversations. He ignores his mother’s voice coming from the kitchen, about to step onto the stairs but she calls out again. 

“You made it in time for dinner!” 

“I’m not hungry,” Minho grumbles, not even bothering to speak loud enough for them to hear. 

He’s considering running just to get away, but then Kyungmin sticks his head through the archway and Minho stops in his tracks again. His brother pouts to manipulate him and—it works. 

Minho can’t say no to him. 

Aloof, he trails behind Kyungmin to the dining room. His brother pats the chair next to his own with a smile, signaling Minho to take it. But Minho focuses his gaze on his father sitting at the head of the table.

He’s still in his usual attire—white dress shirt with a dark tie. It’s strange that he isn’t wearing a suit jacket, but Minho quickly realizes it’s his way of showing how casual he is. But he isn’t. 

With the lazy stare provoking, his expression exudes arrogance; Minho wants to turn on his heel and leave just so he doesn’t have to look at him but Kyungmin jumps off his chair with a sigh and grabs his arm to drag Minho to the table. 

It’s not like Minho has a choice. Father watches Minho’s face with utmost heed and the fresh wounds on his knuckles don’t escape his attention either as Minho reaches for a glass of water upon sitting down.

He empties it in one go and sets it on the table with a thud, crossing arms over his chest. Curving his lips cynically, Minho makes it clear that he would rather be anywhere but here. He must have gotten it across; his father’s brows furrow with sheer anger but it doesn’t do much to Minho—other than fuel and widen his smirk. Kyungmin watches them without saying anything but it’s clear the tense interactions don’t escape him. 

Their mother enters the dining room, kitchen help with platters full of food trailing behind her. Minho bites back a scoff. He should’ve expected that their lovely family dinner isn’t even made by one of the members. To his mother it would be too much effort and she doesn’t care enough. 

She sits down at the table with her usual grace and gives them a warm smile. Kyungmin doesn’t even bat an eye; he’s already reaching for the quail eggs that the staff set in front of them. Minho knows it’s only a game, though. He’s not sure what they want from him yet, but his parents aren’t great actors—they break characters too quickly, in no time throwing off masks of faux care. 

Minho grits his teeth but nods in thanks to the boy setting a bowl of soup in front of him. Only when he starts eating does he feel the suppressed hunger coming back. The rice waffles he’s bought still lie in the backseat of his car, uneaten. Though if he hasn’t been forced to eat dinner with his parents, he would probably be too irritated to eat something and go to bed without it. 

Silence, distrubed only by the clatter of cutlery on the dishes, doesn’t last long. His parents share knowing stares and then Minho’s mother asks, “How are you doing at school, Minho?” 

Minho’s hand stills in the air before the spoonful of soup ends up in his mouth. With a splash, he puts the spoon back in the bowl and eyes his parents.

“Ah, you don’t know? I thought you’re still paying the principal to get notified about every single thing I do.” 

Kyungmin watches them closely, but even he, as a child, is sane enough not to interfere. Their father knits his eyebrows with anger. 

“You’re—”

“They’re organising a field trip to Hwang’s ski resort in January,” Mother cuts in, interrupting her irritated husband. Minho has to admit that she of the two of them can keep the act up the longest. Minho must have taken the trouble keeping calm after his father. 

“I’m sure you know they don’t let me go on any trips because I am—quote—the worst person to step into that school,” Minho answers with a wry smile. 

One look at his father is enough to see how furious he is already. Too bad; Minho has just started. 

“I don’t care what they’ve told you before,” he tells Minho, resting his palms on the table. “You will go on that goddamn trip and see how the Hwangs—”

“I’m not going to be spying for you!” condemns Minho. This is too much. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“You’re going. And that’s final.”

Minho sharply exhales through his nose. Shaking his head in disbelief, he shifts his gaze to the person sitting across him. “And you’re alright with this?” he spits out to his mother. 

She stares at him with a mask of indifference like it’s permanently glued to her face. Maybe it is. 

“It will be good for you,” she states, voice stern. She isn’t accepting ‘no’ as an answer either. “You’ll rest and maybe—maybe you’ll get some time to rethink your behaviour.”

Minho doesn’t even hold back a loud huff and with a bang pushes his chair back to get up and leave this whole circus. Everything’s been getting on his nerves today. And this—the dinner and the trip and his parents’ games—is too much, even for him.

“Minnie!” Kyungmin shouts, grabbing him by the sleeve of his hoodie. He’s clutching the fabric tight in his hands, not letting Minho go. “Please, eat.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho glances at his parents. They both know well that he’d never do anything that could affect Kyungmin in a bad way. They’re using it. They’re using their own son to manipulate their other son. Wonderful parents. 

Minho shakes his hand, gently detaching Kyungmin’s hand from his own hoodie to move away. All he wants is some peace. And this dinner is definitely not it. 

“What kind of an exemplar are you, Minho?” 

His mother lifts her hand, gesturing towards his face. Her voice is soft, softer than ever, but at the same sharp; all she wants is to convince Minho to relent. She doesn’t care what it takes. 

He looks down at Kyungmin once again, watcheshim tighten his fists around Minho’s hoodie. His brother’s eyes are fixed on him; they shimmer, reflecting the light from the enormous crystal chandelier above them—it only deepens the effect his doe eyes have on Minho. 

He can’t leave Kyungmin alone. 

How many times has Minho wanted to just run away, to get into his car and drive somewhere far, far away; or at least drive to the airport, buy a ticket to the other side of the world. How many times has he wanted to let himself be beaten up to unconsciousness, to get so hurt that there would be nothing left of him. 

But there’s always one thing in the back of his mind—Kyungmin. 

His brother is too little, too innocent for Minho to hurt him like this. He can’t bring himself to leave him to live alone with a nanny, in the empty house, without anyone else to turn to. 

Minho may not be the perfect older brother, but everything he does is always preceded by the thought “How will this affect Kyungmin?”. 

His mother can’t play with his feelings like this. Not when she’s the one hurting her children—always away; never calling for their sake, never texting for their sake, never asking what’s up just because she cares. 

She has no right to speak about exemplars for children. None.

But one pleading look from Kyungmin is enough for Minho to flop back in the chair and glare at the oak table. Minho lets the little hand hesitantly release the grip on his sleeve, then let him go completely.

A sigh slips past his lips and he can’t even bring himself to hold it back. They’ve already won, anyways. They’re definitely exchanging winning looks now, but Minho doesn’t have the strength to look up.

He feels like he’s been chained to the chair and those chains mean only one thing. Minho will never get away. 

Minho finishes dinner in relative peace—when he begins to ignore his parents, they stop talking to him at all and go back to discussing their business affairs. Before he manages to head to his bedroom, Kyungmin stops him. 

“I’m sorry they’re being mean to you because of me,” he whispers, though Minho can hear him loud and clear in the empty hallway. 

He heaves a sigh, crouching and rests his hands on Kyungmin’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Kyungie. We just—We disagree.” Minho sends his brother a wry smile, trying to ease his worries. “You’re too young to understand some things but you grow so, so quickly. You’ll get it in no time, alright?” 

Kyungmin nods. “And you don’t wanna go on a trip?”

“I’d rather stay home with you,” Minho teases, nudging his brother’s shoulder and standing up. 

“No!” he shouts, not caring about being quiet. “You have to go and bring me a souvenir!”

Minho ruffles his hair, glad that Kyungmin starts to complain about it, right away running back downstairs. Heading to his room, he locks the door and leans against it with his back. He’s exhausted. 

Stumbling over to the window, he closes the blinds, and takes off his pants, immediately climbing onto his bed. He’s already warm and comfortable in his hoodie but as he slides under the fluffy duvet, Minho feels like all his worries and frustration have disappeared, making space for blissful nothingness. 

Minho is fine with it. He’s learnt to appreciate it.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

After waking up, with a few more wonderful minutes before the alarm goes off, Minho realizes he should apologize to Jisung. What’s uncontrollably escaped his lips is just stupidity fueled by anger. He doesn’t seriously think Jisung is nosy.

(Maybe a little. But still, Minho doesn’t mind.)

Jisung has been mad at him before but this time it’s different. Minho can’t forget the expression that flashed across Jisung’s face then, in the library. He has it in the back of his head; it’s an unpleasant reminder of the fact that Minho has still to learn to control his own words. 

And maybe he isn’t the master of reading off people’s faces and their emotions, but he’s pretty sure what he’s said has hurt Jisung, or at least made him upset for a hot second. And that second is—strangely—enough for Minho to feel like the biggest jerk. 

What the hell is happening to him? 

Confused, he shakes his head. He tosses the duvet aside and is immediately attacked by the winter chill in his bedroom. Shuddering, Minho rushes to his closet to find something to wear and keep him from freezing his ass off. 

He doesn’t hurry to school—in reality, he doesn’t feel like attending morning math class at all, so he drives excruciatingly slowly (like a grandpa, Changbin would say), humming songs playing on shuffle from his playlist under his breath. 

At each break between his classes, Minho looks around the hallways, hoping that he will spot Jisung somewhere, although he’s not entirely sure if Jisung will even listen to him at all. 

But Jisung is nowhere to be seen; as if he’s vanished into thin air. 

Minho doesn’t like unsolved arguments, and the guilt is eating him up inside more and more with each passing minute. 

He slams his school locker with a bang, and the impact of the metal door echoes across the empty hallway. Most students are definitely in class, but Minho’s mind is too much of a mess to sit by the desk and pretend that he cares about what’s appearing on the blackboard.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket and heads to the exit, not bothering to care about the principal or other teachers—if Minho gets caught, his father will find a way to make the headmaster forget about it. 

He stops suddenly as he turns into the main hall, a familiar brown hair flickering before his eyes. Minho picks up the pace. 

This is his chance. 

Jisung is descending the stairs leading to the library. He’s searching for something in his backpack slung over one shoulder, but looks up upon hearing approaching footsteps. Of course he notices Minho—the roll of his eyes and grimace of discontent is proof. Turning his head away, Jisung accelerates. 

Minho doesn’t want to shout in the middle of the hallway—maybe he doesn’t care about being caught skipping classes but if someone sees him, they’ll stop him and Jisung will get away.

Minho almost jogs to catch up with Jisung (when did he even get this fast?), rushes down the stairs after him and overtakes him. He puts his hand on the wall right in front of Jisung’s face, preventing his escape.

Jisung must’ve thought Minho has given up; his mouth falls open in disbelief upon seeing him but he notices too late—tripping over his own leg, Jisung lets out a choked yelp. He’d fall down the stairs and break a bone if Minho didn’t stop him with his arm. 

Minho almost loses balance himself as Jisung slams into him with his whole body. He holds steady and secures him around his waist with the other hand.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Minho asks, eyebrows knitting in worry.

Jisung clenches his jaw, breaking out of his grip and takes a step back onto the higher stair. “I was holding onto the railing! You didn’t have to—ugh!”

Minho glances to the side. Jisung’s hand is indeed tightly clamped on the railing of the stairs. Even if he stumbled, he wouldn’t fall. 

Minho feels the heat of embarrassment rising to his ears, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the younger’s face. Jisung glares at him, arms folded across his chest.

“Don’t ever touch me,” he spits out. His eyes linger on Minho for a moment longer and—with his expression easing into something less furious—he adds, “Just—just stay away from me.”

Minho only blinks and when he opens his eyes again, Jisung is already running down the stairs. 

No. He can’t just let him go. He can’t, although common sense is telling him, is screaming at him that he definitely should. Minho has never been good at listening to others, even if it’s just his own mind. 

He turns, grabbing Jisung’s wrist before he can turn the corner and run. 

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

Minho doesn’t know. He has no idea.

But when he’s looking at Jisung, when he’s so close that it would only take a few centimetres for their noses to touch, when Jisung’s mask of anger is cracking to reveal something Minho can’t yet decipher, a strange but pleasant warmth spreads all over his insides and heart begins to beat an inconsistent rhythm. 

Minho is losing his mind. 

He leans close enough to feel Jisung’s warmth and fixes his gaze on him. Jisung holds his breath with a gasp. It’s quiet—too quiet—and Minho hears it clearly. Breath hitching, blood rushing, mask cracking. 

Jisung was just saying how much he hates Minho, how he wants Minho to stay away and forget about his existence. But now—Jisung is now glancing at Minho’s mouth, only to look back to his eyes a second later, as if the sole sight is burning him. 

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. Minho lifts the corner of his mouth, noticing from where he’s standing one step higher than Jisung that it resembles a heart. Jisung is full of love, isn’t he?

When his eyes flutter shut, Minho finally mumbles, “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

Jisung just nods his head as if in amok, eyes still closed, breath shallow, as if he isn’t even registering what Minho’s saying. He’s a strange creature; tangled in his own mess of a head, pushing and pulling, so confused. 

Minho bites back the smile threatening to sneak onto his lips. Is this really the effect he has on Jisung? Is this—barely anything—enough to make Jisung beg for a kiss? He’s denied so much, has made it clear that he wanted nothing of Minho.

And yet. 

Minho comes even closer, hovering over Jisung’s lips but not closing the distance between them. Jisung seems impatient—it’s not hard to see but Minho wants to play a little longer; he wants to enjoy seeing Jisung like this for a moment. 

“I thought you wanted me to stay away,” Minho murmurs. He pulls away with difficulty and reluctance, taking a step to the side.

Jisung’s eyes immediately snap open and, like out of a trance, he stares at him in bewilderment. Minho forces a playful smile and shoves his hands back to the pockets of his jacket.

Jisung covers his mouth with his hand as his gaze falls to the floor. It’s as if he just now realizes what happened.

Though nothing actually happened.

“Why do you keep toying with me?” Jisung ends up mumbling and turns on his heel to run down the stairs before Minho even gets a chance to react.

His smile drops; this is not the reaction he’s expected. He wanted Jisung to smack him on the shoulder and roll his eyes and for everything to go back to how it was. Not Jisung getting even  _ more _ upset with him. 

Minho stands still for a moment with his eyebrows raised in confusion, eventually heaving a sigh and dashing down the stairs and out of the school building. When he looks around the courtyard, Jisung is already gone.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

What was Minho thinking?

Stressed, Jisung runs fingers through his hair. He lowers his head, resting it against the countertop of the kitchen island and lets out a groan. If he’s thought his mind has been a mess before, this—whatever the hell it is—is an armageddon. 

Jisung is embarrassed—he’s ashamed. He can’t get this whole incident out of his head, even though time and time has passed since then, and he’s been sitting in the same place, in his kitchen, in his house, miles away from Minho for a long time already, and he still doesn’t know what to do. 

Minho used him once again. He has played with Jisung, has taken advantage of his moment of vulnerability. This time he derided him even more, and in the end he didn’t even kiss him. The only thing Minho wants is to make fun of Jisung, and so far it’s working. Minho is definitely having lots of fun. 

What if someone saw them? Jisung wouldn’t be able to deny rumors supported by  _ forged _ evidence; such a hot topic would definitely move the entire school once again and Jisung would end up as another of Minho’s toys. (Jisung tries to think back, to remember if Minho even had toys in the first place but comes away empty-handed.) 

Jisung raises his head; sitting hunched with your cheek pressed to the cold countertop isn’t too comfortable. 

It’s getting dark outside. The last rays of the setting sun break in through the patio doors and Jisung watches them until they completely fade, hiding below the horizon. 

Jumping off the bar stool, he sighs. He takes his phone off the counter and into his hand, then heads to his room to sit by the desk, spending way too long to finish his math homework. Jisung almost cries with frustration when he can’t come up with a good solution to one of the problems. Fuming, he nearly gets up and tosses his notebook out the window. (Jisung isn’t good at taming his emotions.)

He doesn’t have the strength to think about homework any longer. Flipping his book close, Jisung figures he can analyze this problem in Seungmin’s notebook to see what he’s been doing wrong. He leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. 

Jisung likes such moments of bliss when all he hears is silence. It’s not that deafening quiet of loneliness. It’s when night is knocking on the windows and the moon is hanging up in the sky, casting a cold glow over this part of the world. It’s when Jisung is sitting in his cozy room and forgets about everything else. It’s when nothing else matters, but him. It’s just Jisung and no one else. 

His eyelids get heavier. Jisung fights the urge to curl into a ball in his chair, although he really, really wants to stay where he is. Standing up and stretching his limbs, he trots to the bathroom and takes a hot shower. The mist that smells of raspberries follows him back to his bedroom and Jisung thinks it’s what lulls him to sleep. 

He slips into the dreamland as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

Even though he wakes up before his alarm clock rings, Jisung feels more rested than usual. It’s not often that he gets to laze around in his warm bed on December mornings, all the more he can hardly hold back the blissful smile that spreads across his face. 

With more time in the morning, he managed to make a full thermos of hot tea to share with his friends at school. It gets colder every day—Jisung needs to take care of these losers. (He remembers Felix pointing out they had similar love languages—Jisung thinks it’s a pretty thought.) 

“They’ve added ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ to Netflix today,” Hyunjin says, palms pressed to the school’s heater. They’ve taken advantage of the empty classroom and are now occupying the seats by the radiators. Everyone will definitely be jealous—at least that’s what Hyunjin has claimed. “Wanna binge watch?” 

“Cool with me,” Felix mumbles, slurping tea from the paper cup they’ve stolen from the vending machine. 

Jisung shrugs. “You can come over tonight.” 

Hyunjin sends him a charming smile, nodding his head in content. Jeongin shoves a butter cookie into his mouth and he’d probably speak up with it full and gross if Jisung didn’t scold him with a glare. 

He rolls his eyes but obediently swallows the cookie before saying, “I can’t stay for the night. My dad’s family is visiting this evening and mom hates them. I need to be there for mental support before he gets back from work.” 

Jisung pouts in mock tremendous sadness, earning a smack on the shoulder from Seungmin. Unfazed, he only chuckles and shakes his head. “Alright. No sleepover this time,” he says, though he feels like they might pass out after a marathon of movies and end up staying over anyway. “But, as the host, I’m not buying any food.” 

They all groan in such harmony that Jisung thinks it would make a good hidden vocal in a thirst anthem if they were in a band. He knows the cupboard in his kitchen is still full of sweets and snacks ready to be emptied but lets his friends play rock, paper, scissors. 

Jisung watches them shooting each other suspicious glances; it’s a given they will all try to cheat. They shout over each other as if buying food is a problem, but smiles don’t fade out of their faces. 

It’s entertaining to watch when Jisung isn’t on the receiving end. After a series of exaggerated groans and screams—that earned them strange looks from their classmates—Felix finally silences them and says he can pay this time. 

Hyunjin jumps to wrap his arms around him, pulling Felix closer and almost making them both fall off their chairs. Felix accidentally kicks Jeongin under the table when he tries to steady himself. His overdramatic screech is (fortunately) muffled by the ringing bell. 

Seungmin and Jisung exchange looks. 

They are definitely the only normal ones.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

“Oh, right!” Hyunjin suddenly exclaims when they’re in the middle of watching ‘Dead Man’s Chest’. They don’t even look up at him, not wanting to tear their eyes away from the screen, but it’s not like Hyunjin cares. “I’m going on a date with Changbin on Sunday.” 

Jeongin mumbles something under his breath but he’s sitting too far for Jisung—who’s cuddled up to Seungmin on the couch—to hear. Judging by the part of his face Jisung can actually see, Jeongin doesn’t look either surprised or impressed.

“Where are you guys going?” Seungmin asks, but sounds too out of it.

Jisung lifts his head off his friend’s shoulder to look up at him. With his eyes stubbornly fixed on the TV screen, Seungmin seems weird. Jisung doesn’t know how else to describe it. 

Feeling his eyes on him, Seungmin turns to face Jisung. Instead of a smile he expects, he gets a stone expression he can’t read. Seungmin moves a hand to his waist, pulling him closer so Jisung doesn’t say a word. He swings one leg over his friend’s hips and hopes that whatever is going on Seungmin’s mind will ease with his hugs. 

Jisung doesn’t want to brag but he’s crazy good at hugging. 

Though he’s too busy staring between the TV and Seungmin (and making sure he’s alright) and doesn’t register Hyunjin’s answer or Felix’s quiet questions, probably about  _ further developmen _ t of their relationship. Seungmin is acting exceptionally atypical; Jisung needs to find out what this all is about. 

However, everything seems to go back to normal after that. Jeongin leaves when his mom calls by the end of the movie. Jisung gets up to make them some more tea and when he returns, Felix is dozing off on the carpet. He doesn’t look cramped so Jisung throws a blanket over him and goes back to cuddling with Seungmin.

They’re all sleepy but insist they don’t want to bother Jisung by staying for the night and leave, ending their little marathon after the third part of the series. (Jisung has to swallow the disappointment although he knew they wouldn’t be sleeping over. It’s just—he gets lonely a lot.) 

Jisung is having trouble falling asleep. The only solution is to get his mind tired—he stares at the TV screen, not even slightly interested in what he’s watching. A mug of hot green tea serves as a heater for his hands but Jisung silently misses hugging his friends and stealing their body heat. 

He pulls the blanket tighter around himself and lets out a drawn out yawn. Grabbing his phone to check what time it is, Jisung isn’t surprised to see it’s nearing three. He hasn’t even realized he’s been sitting in the living room for so long but decides it’s time to finally get into his own bed. 

Jisung gets up, languid, and folds the blanket up so that it lies neatly on the couch. He doesn’t have the strength or any will to carry the empty mug back to the kitchen, so he leaves it for the next day and starts slowly toward the upper floor. 

The doorbell ringing scares him as he’s already climbing the stairs. Jisung stills. Who the hell would even visit him at three in the morning? He can think of millions of worst-case scenarios like it’s the best time to think about getting murdered in his own house. 

Jisung punches the password on his phone when the ringing doorbell rises again in the house. With trembling hands, he opens the electronics control app and switches to the view from the camera by the door. He curses under his breath but this time rushes to the front door with no hesitation, to swing it open and see Lee Minho already turning his back on him. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jisung shoots.

Minho turns to face him, and when the light hanging over the door falls onto his face, Jisung notices the state he’s in. He sighs, shaking his head.

“You said—You told me I should come over if I get beaten up again to get checked out,” Minho breathes, voice strangled. He’s clutching a scraped hand to his ribs. Maybe it’s the embarrassment, maybe he just can’t speak louder because of the pain—Jisung doesn’t know and frankly doesn’t cae. 

He gets a hold of Minho’s wrist, leading him through the door. He wonders how he’s even gotten onto the property but one look at the entrance tells him he hasn’t closed the gate after his friends have gone home. Jisung should be more careful. 

Minho isn’t limping and his other hand has fallen back to his side but Jisung can’t bring himself to let go. He feels like Minho will trip and fall if he doesn’t hold onto something. And if that something is him then so be it. 

He lets Minho go first with a hand pressed to his back to support him and leads him to the kitchen, where Minho takes off his jacket and sits down on the bar stool. Jisung doesn’t say anything and leaves to find the first-aid kit in the bathroom. 

When he comes back, he sets the box down on the countertop and slides his hand over his face in fatigue. He sweeps his gaze over Minho to get a hang of what he might need but Minho’s eyes are stubbornly glued to the floor.

Jisung can’t work like this. He clears his throat and asks, “Want some tea?”

Minho lifts his head up. He sweeps his gaze over Jisung’s face but doesn’t meet his eyes, only nodding in response. 

“Black or flavoured?”

“What flavour have you got?”

The corner of Jisung’s lips curls up as he tilts his head to the side. “You should be asking what flavour I  _ haven’t _ got,” he says, proud of himself for no reason. He goes over to the cupboard and opens it to reveal his _ tea kingdom _ to Minho.

Minho snorts. “I’m fine with anything, so choose something for me.” 

Jisung nods but before looking for tea for both of them, pours water into the kettle. He murmurs under his breath, reading flavours and brands not really sure what Minho could have a taste for. 

“I think this one might suit you well,” he says eventually, turning around to see Minho raising his eyebrow.

Jisung takes out two animal-patterned mugs out of the cupboard and sets them on the counter to take care of Minho’s injuries while the water is yet to boil. 

He steps forward, studying him. A scraped cheek and temple, bleeding lips and nose. It’s not that bad, but if Minho has been getting beaten up like this a lot, it’s strange there are barely any traces of his previous injuries. His face remains immaculate. 

Minho lifts his head up and lets Jisung’s eyes meet his own for the first time that night. Maybe if they were here under different circumstances, Jisung would allow himself to fall apart under his gaze. But they’re not; he grabs the first aid kit and sets to work. 

Jisung might absolutely despise Minho but he isn’t going to deny helping someone in need, even if it’s him. He would definitely deny helping a bad person but Minho isn’t one, he supposes. He’s weird and annoying and infuriates Jisung in more ways than one, but he’s not a bad person.

The corners of Jisung’s mouth curl up as he presses a cotton pad soaked in hydrogen peroxide to Minho’s temple. He’s curious about his reactions when he isn’t trying hard to stay in control.

Tonight—coming over to Jisung’s and sitting in his kitchen—Minho seems to have let his guard down, but maybe Jisung is just reaching. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion painted so clearly on his face.

A hiss slips past Minho’s lips only to be cut short when he presses his lips together. Jisung notices with sheer amusement watches as his ears heat up a scarlet red. Is Minho that embarrassed about letting it show that he’s in pain? 

Jisung doesn’t care; it’s not like Minho is a rock without feelings, no matter how much both of them would like to believe it.

Still, he remains silent, trying his best to clean his face up. He steps forward, tilting Minho’s head to the side for better access. They understand each other with no words, it seems—Minho spreads his legs further so Jisung can have more space and at the same time come closer—and it’s a stupid thought to have but Jisung smiles under his breath. 

Jisung hums a melody that’s been running on his mind constantly lately. Minho perks up but doesn’t say a thing.

It’s clear Minho’s eyes follow his every move, watch and study him like he’s a painting in the art gallery that just needs to be analyzed closely, but—strangely—Jisung doesn’t feel uneasy. 

It’s three in the morning and Jisung feels like death but it’s peaceful and quiet and a silence so different from what he’s used to. He doesn’t mind being with Minho if it’s like this. 

“I’m sorry,” he hears suddenly and looks at Minho with knitted eyebrows.

“For what?”

“For coming here,” Minho tells him but Jisung feels like there’s something more, something right on the tip of his tongue but Minho isn’t sure how to say it aloud. 

Smiling, he presses the cotton pad to Minho’s lips, gently holding his chin in his fingers. His gaze wanders down and Jisung is reminded of things he’d rather forget when he glances at Minho’s blood red mouth. 

“I told you to come over when you need me, so you don’t have to apologize, alright? It’s better for you to be here than… I don’t know. It’s good that you’re here.” 

His hand is still cupping Minho’s face but Jisung isn’t treating his injuries. Instead, they’re both staring at each other with no words spilling out of their mouths and Jisung thinks he hasn’t felt this calm in a long time. 

Minho’s hot breath tickles his face when Jisung leans down. Given their closeness, it’s impossible not to think about kissing. Jisung still can’t bear the mere idea of being this near Minho but at the same time it’s all he wants. He  _ wants _ and it’s scaring him.

He should be thinking about how just a few days ago he was in the same place, stressed and annoyed over the same boy who’s now in front of him, but Jisung doesn’t want to. 

He has no idea who leans in first but they don’t end up kissing. Water in the kettle boils and whistles, and Jisung swallows the disappointment and takes a few steps back to distance himself from Minho and his strange ability to mess with Jisung’s mind. 

Minho clears his throat; out of the corner of his eye, Jisung can see him running fingers through his hair. He himself pours the tea into their mugs, stubbornly acting like nothing has just happened.

They both have been acting like nothing’s been happening since Minho has shown up at his door; Jisung is justified. 

He slides one of the mugs over the countertop to Minho and leaves his own on the other side. Approaching him again—and this time keeping his distance—Jisung asks, “Did you get hit anywhere else?”

When Minho doesn’t answer for a long moment, Jisung raises his eyebrows in a hurrying gesture. The older hesitantly grabs the hem of his hoodie and pulls it up. Seeing just a bit of his abdomen is enough to tell his entire torso is bruised. 

Jisung shakes his head in disapproval. He’s going to go to the bathroom to get towels, but he doesn’t want to leave Minho without a word, so all Jisung says is that he will come back soon and help him. Minho sends him a warm, thankful smile that Jisung can’t get out of his mind on his way to the bathroom, on his way back and a long, long time after that.

He folds a small towel into a rectangle and wets it under the faucet with cold water. When he’s back to the kitchen, Minho is turned on the stool, facing the hallway Jisung’s disappeared in. Upon seeing him, he straightens up and a shadow of relief flashes over his face, as if he thought Jisung would leave him alone. (Ridiculous—it’s Jisung’s house.)

Jisung stops by his side. “If we apply cold compress, they’ll disappear quicker,” he says, meaning the bruises. 

Minho nods and pulls his hoodie up again, this time higher. Maybe some other time Jisung would be embarrassed, maybe he’d stare at Minho’s torso and wouldn’t be able to look away, but all he can think of is helping Minho. It crosses his mind that it might be new; that perhaps no one has helped him treat his injuries before and hasn’t told him what to do when he gets bruised. 

Jisung wants to help him. Jisung doesn’t want to leave Minho alone.

“It’ll be cold.”

“I can handle it.” 

Jisung bites back a smile; he’s heard it from Minho what feels like a thousand times already. It would be alright if he couldn’t handle it. Jisung wouldn’t mind. Still, he’s gentle when he presses the cold towel to Minho’s ribs. Stray drops run down his side, disappearing after coming into contact with the fabric of his black jeans.

Minho shudders; Jisung feels it and his eyes travel back to Minho’s face.

Squeezed eyes, lips pressed into a thin line, and breath held back make Jisung almost loosen his grip on the wet towel and drop it on Minho’s pants. When he pulls it away, Minho snaps his eyes open and sends Jisung a hazed, but clearly questioning look. 

“I’ll soak it again and we’ll drink tea later, hmm?” Jisung tells him, already tuning to the sink. Minho only mumbles something under his breath. “I think it’s cooled down by now but it should warm you up.” 

It’s fun to watch Minho trying to brace himself for another wave of cold. Jisung is trying to be gentle, he’s really trying but—judging also by the amount of bruises painted across his torso—he supposes Minho’s skin is simply very sensitive. 

Jisung can actually let him apply the cold compress on his own, but he doesn’t want to. Someone needs to make sure he’s doing it right. 

“It doesn’t hurt when I’m pressing like this, does it?” he asks. 

Minho looks at him through his long eyelashes. “I don’t know. I can’t feel anything with the cold.” 

Jisung tilts his head to the side, automatically lowering the pressure. He doesn’t want to hurt Minho by accident. “Are you kidding or do I call an ambulance?”

A corner of his mouth curling up is enough of an answer but Minho adds, “You’re good at this.”

It’s sincere. Sincere and nice. Warmth spreads all over his insides. It’s nothing big. Four stupid words and the most banal adjective but Jisung feels like he’s just been given the moon when Minho is smiling at him like this. 

It’s not forced, it’s not that smile he gives everyone, it’s not provocative or mocking. It’s just a smile. 

“Uh—I think you’ll be fine.” Jisung puts an end to the staring that’s been getting concerning. “We can apply it later, though. Just to make sure they heal quicker.”

_ Later _ . As if Minho is staying over. 

Jisung scolds himself in his mind and moves away; just to be safe. Minho always messes up with his head when they find themselves too close. 

Jisung wipes his hands and gives Minho a big towel for him to dry his side. Clearing his throat, he sits down on the bar stool across him. Minho turns to face him and awkwardly drapes the towel over his lap, wrapping his hands around the hot mug. 

“What’s the flavour?” he asks, sniffing. 

“Take a guess.” 

Minho rolls his eyes at Jisung’s words and, with an annoying slurp, takes a sip of the tea. For a split second Jisung worries he won’t like it but then his face lights up in a soft smile and Jisung mentally breathes a sigh of relief. 

“I think it’s raspberry and something else but I don’t know what.” 

Jisung puts his mug to his mouth. For a moment, he enjoys his favorite taste of elderberry and lets it fill him from head to toe with incredible warmth. He can almost feel all his muscles relaxing.

“It’s pomegranate,” he answers eventually. 

Minho nods. “It’s good.” 

“Mhmm… it kind of fits you,” Jisung tells him but he isn’t exactly sure what he means himself. Minho’s eyebrows shoot up, questioning, but when Jisung doesn’t carry on, he drops it. 

Sitting in silence with Minho is surprisingly pleasant. Kitchen halogen lamps shed warm light on the entire room, contrasting with the endless abyss of darkness outside the window. Jisung would never sit like this alone. He’d think of a million possibilities of something lurking in the dark. But he doesn’t feel scared with Minho.

Jisung is sure he wouldn’t like the time he’d see on the clock so he doesn’t even spare it a glance. All he knows is that it’s late. Very late. Maybe so late that it’s early. Yet, he can’t bring himself to care at that very moment. (He will care in the morning, when he won’t be able to detach his cheek from the pillow.) 

He lets out a drawn out yawn, covering his mouth. 

It doesn’t escape Minho’s attention; he downs his mug of tea and says, “I should get going.” 

(Jisung would never admit it but he doesn’t want Minho to go. For many, many different reasons, the most important being the fear that someone will attack him again and Minho won’t be able to defend himself when he’s like this.)

“I’ll drive you home,” Jisung suggests. 

Minho objects, shaking his head and slips into his jacket. Jisung lets him pretend the sudden movement of Minho’s shoulders doesn’t bring him pain. 

“You’ve done a lot for me already. Seriously, thank you.”

Jisung sends him a smile in response. He walks Minho to the front door and grabs his own coat in the hallway, slipping into his shoes. Minho holds the door for him, silently accepting Jisung’s offer of walking him to the driveway. 

They stroll in silence, eventually stopping by the gate. Jisung wraps the coat tighter around himself, trying to prevent his body heat from escaping. 

“What happened today?” he asks. 

Hesitance is clear on Minho’s face, magnified with the light casted by the streetlight. “I had to show someone they can’t taunt me,” he ends up saying, cryptic as ever.

Jisung nods but he still doesn’t understand a thing. 

“And did it work? By the state you came in here…” 

“Of course. If you think I looked bad… well, if you saw him…” Jisung isn’t sure if it’s something to be proud of. “Have some faith in me, Hannie, will you?” 

Jisung lets the nickname slide. “But are you—are you sure you’re feeling better?” 

“Of course, doctor Han. Thanks to your help I’m as fit as a fiddle,” Minho says, quite seriously, just to burst out laughing when Jisung smacks him on the shoulder. An affable smile is still painted across his face when he adds, “Everything’s fine. Thank you.”

Minho takes a few steps back and begins walking away, although he’s still facing Jisung. 

When he’s already on the pavement, behind the gate and quite far away, Jisung shouts, “You said you’ve given them a lesson!” 

Minho stops in his tracks with a quizzical look. 

“Promise me you’ll stop fighting with them.” 

Minho presses his lips together just to put on the smile Jisung hates so much a mere second later. “Promises are worthless.”

Jisung isn’t the one who says it but the words still leave a bitter taste in his mouth. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Jisung finds it hard to study when he can’t reward every right answer with sweets. He’s trying not to think about it but he’s been using this method for so long both his body and his mind have gotten used to it. 

His cupboard—until recently full of supplies—has been continuously looted by his friends during several  _ robberies _ , and Jisung has been too busy with school, studying, meeting up with people, trying to break from under Minho’s spell, studying, school and even more studying to think about groceries. 

Were it not for take away, Jisung would probably have starved to death.

He heaves a sigh, leaning back in his chair. Glancing at the screen of his phone, he curses; hardly any store remains open after midnight. Jisung is sure that he won’t be able to motivate himself to study in any other way, though, so he goes downstairs, slips into his coat and leaves the house. After making sure the gate is closed and the alarm is on, he drives out of the driveway with his Toyota. 

Maybe another day he would choose to walk, since the convenience store isn’t that far away, but the end of December is fast approaching—it’s almost Christmas time, so the temperature is only getting lower and frost is nipping at his cheeks. Especially at this time of the night. Not to mention wandering around town isn’t the safest idea either. 

There’s no parking outside the store, so Jisung pulls up by the nearby park and almost trots to the building. He isn’t going to confine himself when it comes to shopping; he shoves all the sweets and snacks that fall into his hands into the basket. Even if he doesn’t particularly like something, there’s still a good chance his friends will absolutely love it. Jisung prefers to buy things especially for them, just so they stay away from  _ his _ food.

A young girl behind the cash register eyes Jisung with her tired gaze, looking like she wants to grab him by the shoulders and yell into his face that he’s insane for stopping by at this hour with his shopping basket overflowing. Jisung sends her an apologetic smile and snatches everything out of her hands as she scans his groceries to shove it into his canvas bag. 

Even though Jisung prides himself on this ability, this time he fails to sense Minho’s eyes on him. He’s standing nearby, sneaking glances and pretending he’s very much engrossed in choosing what flavour of chips to buy. He isn’t even sure if it’s alright to speak to Jisung; if he should throw a stupid remark or say a simple ‘hi’. 

When it comes to Jisung, Minho’s mind always turns into mush. 

They pass without a single word or don’t even see each other since the night Minho has shown up on his doorstep. It’s strange and confusing, and if Minho didn’t know how to act before, the situation they’re in is somehow even worse. 

When Jisung leaves the shop, with the bell over the door jingling and the weight of the bag over his shoulder almost dragging him to the ground, Minho rushes to the register to pay for two cans of coffee. Pushing the store door open, he stops on the steps to look around. At the last moment, he notices Jisung disappearing around the corner.

He should turn around and walk away. He should prim up his mouth and act like he doesn’t even notice him. He should get rid of this strange interest in him when he still has the chance. 

“Hey, Jisung!” he calls instead, and it feels like his legs automatically take him in that one direction; to the boy who’s stopped in his tracks and isn’t hiding the surprise upon seeing Minho and hearing his actual name from his lips. 

“Hi,” Jisung greets back, hesitant, when Minho stands beside him. Given his face, it’s safe to assume he doesn’t know how to act, either. “You need something?”

Minho swallows. “Um—I just wanted to—” he cuts off. “It’s just—It’s not safe out here at night. You shouldn’t be walking alone.” 

“I’m a big boy,” Jisung tells him but he doesn’t sound annoyed. 

With his head tilted to the side, a heartwarming smile and cheeks flushed red from the cold, Jisung looks soft. Fog on his glasses—glasses he doesn’t usually wear—forms white crescents; he must have either gotten used to it or doesn’t care. It’s dark outside but Minho can see Jisung’s eyes following his every move well. 

“I’ll walk you home,” he suggests eventually.

“I came by car.”

Silence. 

Minho presses his lips together into a thin line to refrain from bursting into laughter. He’s been acting ridiculous lately.

“Alright. I’ll walk you to your car, then,” he says, forcing a tone more serious.

Considering things Eunjun has been doing recently, Minho doesn’t want Jisung walking around alone. He knows Jisung is perfectly capable of taking care of himself but Eunjun is… Eunjun. Unpredictable. And Minho would never forgive himself if something were to happen to Jisung because of him. 

Jisung lets out a sigh, but the amused glint in his eyes gives him away and is enough of an answer. He turns and steps forward, snow squeaking underfoot. Minho follows, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket to shield them from piercing cold.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Like… sleeping?” Jisung asks, sniffling.

Minho wants to scold him for not wearing a scarf but he’s no better—the only thing protecting him from the cold is his jacket, so he doesn’t say a word.

“Actually, I don’t. And I can hardly ever fall asleep without walking around. Plus, it’s always good to spend time outside… healthy, don’t you think?”

Jisung doesn’t answer but Minho can see him nodding out of the corner of his eye.

The city is nice at this hour. They aren’t walking by the main road so they can enjoy the relative silence, disrupted only by a few passing cars, squeaking snow and barking dogs. The moon hangs high in the sky, casting them with hazy but bright light. It’s quite pleasant. 

“Well, well, who do we have here?” they hear out of nowhere.

At first, Minho doesn’t notice him. He’s too focused on his own thoughts to look around but then the boy steps out of the shadows of the alley and Minho feels panic rising in his chest. He stifles it, putting on a stone cold expression. 

“Oh, Minho! It’s really you,” Haerim calls with a mocking smile, leaning against the wall of a building. When his eyes fall on Jisung, his eyebrows shoot up and the smirk only widens. Minho suddenly feels the urge to knock all his teeth out. 

Jisung notices, of course. He stops, too, and his gaze travels from Minho to the boy from Eunjun’s pack over and over again. The stranger’s expression is concerning; it makes shivers run down Jisung’s spine. 

Automatically and blindly he finds Minho’s hand in the dark, grabbing it into his own to squeeze and hold on. Shooting him a panicked gaze, Jisung is scared. If it’s one of the people Minho’s fighting with—

But Minho isn’t looking at Jisung. His eyes are trained on the stranger, as if they’re having a wordless staring contest. This is ridiculous but doesn’t ease Jisung’s stress. 

He squeezes Minho’s hand with a sudden wave of force. So tightly it must hurt. Jisung thinks that maybe Minho has forgotten he’s next to him and it crosses his mind just to run. Afterall, Minho is who the stranger wants—not him. It’s a nasty thought that makes Jisung’s stomach flip. He can’t leave Minho. Jisung could never leave him. 

Minho still doesn’t spare him a single glance, but he interlocks their fingers without a word. He squeezes Jisung’s hand once, twice, thrice and maybe more times. He’s sending a clear message, a signal that doesn’t take Jisung long to decipher.  _ I’ll take care of it.  _

(Jisung hopes this is what Minho means.) 

His jaw is clenched when he grits, “Let’s go, Jisung,” and practically drags him away, fixing their interlocked hands into a more comfortable grip. 

“So it’s him? It’s your Jisung?” they hear the man shouting after them. 

Jisung freezes, not knowing what it means, but before he can even turn to Minho and ask what the hell is going on, Minho is already letting his hand go. With anger painted on his face in vibrant colors, he spins on his heel and dashes toward the stranger. With one swift motion he throws a punch to his jaw, sending him crashing down onto the snow-covered pavement. 

A strangled squeal slips past Jisung’s lips as he’s standing a few meters away, stunned. 

“Next time think twice before opening your fucking mouth,” Minho spits out, not even sparing the lying man with a glance. 

Jisung would stay there still for a long time if Minho didn’t come back to him and grasp his hand. He trips, as if he’s lost the ability to use his own legs but Minho’s grip is strong and he holds Jisung standing up. Billions of thoughts swirl in his head, overlapping and multiplying and creating a mess that gets bigger with every passing second. 

Jisung isn’t sure if he should be afraid of Minho or thank him. He has no idea what happened just now. 

Minho must notice his car in the parking lot—he heads there without Jisung giving him any directions. He doesn’t even know if he’d be able to give them; he can feel his hands trembling and the canvas bag slipping off his shoulder. 

Minho loosens the hold but he doesn’t let go of Jisung’s hand even when they’re standing by his car. 

Jisung swallows the lump in his throat and breaks the deafening silence. “Why did you hit him?”

“Was I supposed to let  _ him _ hit  _ you _ ?” Minho snaps, knitting his eyebrows. “He can’t just—He had no right to even look at you, not to mention—”

“How did he know my name?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” he responds, but Jisung doesn’t know if he can trust that. 

He shakes his hand out of Minho’s grip and finds it still burning, as opposed to the rest of his body. Trembling from the cold, he unlocks the car and tosses his bag onto the passenger seat.

Jisung wants to go home. He wants to lie down in his own bed. He wants to forget about what just happened. 

But Minho grabs his forearm before Jisung can crawl into the driver’s seat. 

“I know you probably don’t want me to drive you back home but at least wait a moment and calm down. I’m not letting you behind the wheel when you’re like this,” he says, voice stern. 

Jisung dares to look up at his face; before, he was too scared to see the anger. But when his eyes meet Minho’s, the only thing he can see in them is the hesitance. Maybe concern or care. Usual annoyance. But not anger. 

Minho wouldn’t hurt him. People do stupid things in anger and fury but Jisung wants to believe Minho only uses force against people who hurt others. 

“Was he the one you were getting back at?”

Minho rolls his eyes at Jisung’s nosiness. “No. This one—It was his friend.”

Letting out a tired sigh, Jisung leans back against his Toyota.

Minho watches him in silence with pursed lips but, after a moment of clear hesitance, he adds, “I’m sorry you had to see that. I don’t regret punching him but—You shouldn’t have had to witness that.”

“I suppose… if you didn’t insist on walking me,” Jisung begins, and sees Minho opening his mouth, most likely to deny having insisted on anything, “I could get punched or… worse. So let’s just say that it’s alright. I don’t approve of violence but—I trust he deserved it.”

“He did.” 

Minho doesn’t carry on and they both fall into silence, until Jisung doesn’t decide he’s calmed down enough to drive safely. He bids a quiet goodbye and slips into his car.

Jisung can see in the rearview mirror how Minho lingers in the parking lot and leaves only when Jisung is on the road, driving away.

It’s strange how he can still feel his hand burning, as if Minho’s touch has left a spark under his skin that keeps spreading, an incandescent flame.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Jisung knows he’ll be spending these holidays alone even before his parents send him a brief message; they write they’re very sorry, but they won’t get home on time, adding that he doesn’t have to worry about his presents because he will definitely get them. It’s what sends him into a spiral of frustration and sadness; Jisung wonders if his parents seriously think everything can be taken care of with money. 

The message from his parents, filled with indifference, is the last straw, and for the first time in quite a while, Jisung bursts into tears. 

He spends the entire night with his cheek uncomfortably sticking to the wet pillow. With all of him he tries to calm down but he just can’t. When the first tears run down his cheeks, there’s no end in sight. 

The trigonometry test he screwed up, the most awful ending of the show he’s been watching, how he slipped on the icy pavement this morning—everything that’s annoyed him at least a tiny bit of late turns his tears into waterfalls. 

Jisung doesn’t cry often but when he’s been suppressing emotions for too long without any venting, he just can’t stop. 

The next morning he awakens with his head throbbing with pain and eyes uncomfortably dry. Blindly, he disconnects his phone from the charger and lets out a sigh upon seeing hundreds of messages from the group chat. 

They all gather together in  _ Verona _ on the 23th of December. Instead of presents they have in abundance, they have decided a few years earlier that the best idea is to have dinner together. More like a feast, really; they always order tons of food and split the bill. This year is no different. 

Jisung doesn’t feel at his best but he’s sure that meeting up with people he loves and who love him will positively affect his mood. He wanders around the house all day, unable to really find himself anything to do, and finally at five o’clock eventually starts getting ready. 

They meet at the restaurant at six and take their usual table. Jisung seats squeezed between Jeongin and Felix, but their closeness doesn’t bother him in the slightest. On the contrary—when Felix’s hand lands on his thigh, Jisung finds himself easing. 

It’s cozy. Soft instrumental music flows through the restaurant speakers and the fairy lights hanging over the walls cast a colorful glow over the room. Verona isn’t crowded but there’s no shortage of customers. It’s one of the high-end restaurants, but mainly because the food is delicious here. 

Jisung falls silent as the chatter over the meal begins to wade deeper into the holiday season. He’s smiling, not wanting any of his friends to notice the sudden change in his mood. He doesn’t want to worry them.

If Jisung told them his parents aren’t coming home for holidays, definitely at least one of them would immediately suggest that Jisung come over for a Christmas dinner. But Jisung hates to impose and holidays are a family holiday; showing up at someone else’s house would be inappropriate, at least for him. 

“—but we’re all coming to Jaemin’s on New Year’s Eve, right?” 

Jisung lifts his head up, registering Hyunjin’s words in his mind. He looks around to find the others nodding or mumbling words of confirmation while chewing their food.

They must notice him hesitating because Hyunjin adds, “If you wanna stay with your parents it’s completely fine.”

_ With his parents.  _

Jisung doesn’t correct him. He swallows the growing lump in his throat and nods, forcing a smile. He shoves another spoonful of soup into his mouth, just so he doesn’t have to talk. Felix saves him from acting when he says he’s got gingerbread cookies in his car to give them. 

“Everyone has to take a box! I’m not taking no for an answer!” 

Jisung wouldn’t dare to decline. If there’s anything that can make his lonely holidays bearable, it will be Felix’s cookies.

He spends the entire Christmas Eve sleeping and watching special episodes of cartoons. He hasn’t even left his bed—there’s no need. His friends (and probably most people he knows) are busy, either preparing the dinner or spending time with their families, but Jisung—Jisung doesn’t have anything else to do. 

Coming downstairs on the late Christmas afternoon and sitting by the kitchen island, it strikes him how sad these holidays are. 

Usually a grand tree stands in full grace in the middle of the living room, with a golden star on top, reaching up to the ceiling. It’s always decorated in gold; Jisung’s mom insists it matches the house’s decor.

Even though Jisung never takes part in the decorating part (except for the few baubles he hangs in secret), because the domestic help is in charge of that, just staring at the glorious tree makes him feel warm all over.

This year Jisung has called off the Christmas tree. He’s called off decorating the garden with fairy light and figurines. He’s called off the cooks and the cleaners and even the person handling the snow removal off the yard. 

Jisung regrets he can’t call off the entirety of Christmas. 

He’s informed each employee about the situation and has wished them a Merry Christmas, immediately sending money as a gift and compensation for taking away their chance to work. It seems like they all realize it’s because of his parents and it only makes everything worse. Jisung doesn’t want their pity or sympathy, and he accepts their best wishes for this  _ wonderful  _ time and the upcoming new year with little joy. 

He heaves a sigh. 

Felix’s gingerbread cookies are begging to get eaten. He finally grabs the box neatly tied with a green ribbon and the smell delights him as soon as he opens it. 

Jisung quietly hopes that cooking and baking won’t remain only a small hobby of Felix’s.

He puts the box down on the counter and, chewing on one of the cookies, walks over to the cupboard filled with other snacks. Gathering as many packets as he can carry in his arms, Jisung heads back to his room, gloomy. 

He spends the whole Christmas night in front of his laptop, eating pizza and crying over stupid Christmas comedies. During these holidays, only one thought remains glued to the front of his mind: Jisung wishes someone was there to hug him.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

In the morning (or in the afternoon—that’s totally insignificant) Jisung is awoken by the sound of incoming notifications. He lets out a sigh, mentally cursing himself out for not muting his phone for the night and takes it from beneath the pillow. 

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, not sure if what he’s seeing is real but the notification doesn’t disappear and Jisung ends up clicking it. 

**MINHO:** didn’t want to ruin your holidays so i’m texting you now

**MINHO:** happy holidays hannie

**MINHO:** you told me to send you the pics i took for the projects so here they are

**MINHO:** don’t yell at me for being late 

Jisung straightens, leaning against the headboard and replies with a simple “thanks, happy holidays”, immediately scrolling up to open photos Minho’s attached. Many of them coincide with those Jisung has taken but it’s not an issue—the more, the better. 

A smile tugs at his lips upon seeing a selfie of Minho with flowers in the background. He saves it—along with most of the pictures, to include them in the presentation—and swipes forward. 

He doesn’t expect to see himself. Himself, crouching by one of the plants of Nami Island with a wide grin painted across his face. Jisung doesn’t even know when this picture was taken. 

He swipes to the side again and again but there’s no more pictures of him. Is there even supposed to be more? Among flowers and trees, the river and ponds, Jisung’s picture doesn’t seem to fit in. As if Minho included it by accident. 

Jisung’s stomach clenches, twisting into a knot. He runs fingers through his hair; his phone chims again. 

**MINHO:** oops forgot about the best ones

This time their pictures together are attached; selfies that Minho insisted on taking. There’s seven of them, though Jisung can swear there should be more with Minho furiously tapping at the screen during their visit to Nami Island. Maybe it was all in his head. 

With every swipe to the left, Jisung’s sour expression eases, to disappear in the last picture. It’s the best of them all—the prettiest, the friendliest. They’re both looking into the lens with grins spread across their faces. Behind them trees are growing colorful leaves; a perfect example of picturesque autumn nature. 

Jisung’s chest feels tight with content as he stares at the screen. They look good together—pretty, even. He wants to keep it to himself, away from strangers’ eyes, for him and Minho only; the thought is strange and vanishes as soon as it appears, leaving Jisung with cheeks stained deep red. 

He saves all of them; to include them in their project, of course. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

“If I don’t have a drink before the party, I’ll drop dead before I even get there,” Hyunjin keeps whining.

He video called them first thing in the morning, finding Felix still in bed, Seungmin brushing his teeth and Jisung ready to do absolutely nothing for the rest of this precious day. Jeongin hasn’t even picked up. 

New Year’s Eve comes faster than Jisung has expected. To be honest, Jisung has barely spared a glance at the calendar; when he’s alone, enclosed in four walls, minutes blend into hours and hours blend into days easier than usual. He’s been catching up with school arrears all week (there’s so little that he’s already started reading the next units), efficiently avoiding talking to anyone. Chained up at home, Jisung doesn’t intend to let a hair stick out the door until the end of Christmas break. 

“I can’t drink alone! I’ll go overboard and pass out and end up dead asleep in my bed.” Hyunjin seems not to realize that Felix is actually dozing off; this, or he just doesn’t care. “You gotta come over. You can get ready at mine, anyway. My parents are going out so we’ll be alone. Please!” 

Seungmin seems to be sending Jisung knowing looks, but on the phone Jisung isn’t that sure he isn’t seeing things. It’s not even his business—he’s not going to any parties and he’s in the video call for the emotional support. (And because the house has become even lonelier after another week of being alone, but Jisung is doing it to himself; he can’t really complain.)

“Don’t look at me like this, Sung-ah! You should come, too!” Hyunjin shoots, apparently not as oblivious as Jisung has thought.

The last party Jisung has been dragged to was the most boring experience of his life and he isn’t exaggerating. Well, apart for a bunch of moments he isn’t responsible for, proud of and doesn’t want to remember. 

Before Jisung gets to answer, another face shows up on the screen. Jeongin joins their call and it’s clear that—just like Felix—he’s still in bed. His hair—freshly dyed turquoise—is disheveled, sticking into every possible direction, begging to get combed. 

“Am I seeing right and you’ve been talking for two hours already?” he asks, voice hoarse and sleepy, and covers his mouth to hide a yawn. 

“It’s just Hyunjin talking. We’re just pretending to be listening.” 

Jisung snorts a laugh at Seungmin’s words but he does have to admit he’s right. 

Jeongin squints his sleepy eyes to see the screen of his phone better. “I imagine the topics must be thrilling with Felix dropping dead.” 

“Lies and slander!” Hyunjin shrieks. His next words get lost in the giggles they erupt into. “Lixie, wake up! You can’t seriously—! Damn it, I hate you guys so much! Felix!” 

Their chuckles magnify as Felix’s eyes flutter open, sleepy. He blinks, knitting his eyebrows as if wondering where the screaming is coming from; his gaze lands on the phone propped against the nightstand and he lets out a deep sigh, falling back on the bed. 

“All this suffering—You’ll pay for it,” Hyunjin mumbles but it’s clear that he isn’t seriously angry despite the glaring. “Seven on the dot, my friends!” 

And then he hangs up.

“I’m going back to sleep,” Felix groans, leaving the call as well.

Jeongin clears his throat, puts on the most innocent face he can muster and flutters his eyelashes for a good measure. “Jisungie, will you please give me a ride?” he draws out.

Jisung hangs up without a single word. 

However, ditching his plans of going on a date with a bottle of Dom Perignon Rose, Jisung pulls up in front of Jeongin’s gate at six o’clock and honks to make his life a little more miserable. Jeongin runs out of his house; he makes a finger gun and puts it to his temple, warning this is how Jisung is going to end up. 

Jisung honks again. 

Jeongin doesn’t murder him on the spot just because he actually needs to get to Hyunjin’s somehow and, unfortunately, everyone would know it’s him who killed Jisung by the way he threatens to terminate him at least three times a day.

Mrs Hwang lets them in, immediately pushing a plate of cookies into their hands—left-vers after holidays. Hyunjin must have heard them talking; he leans over the railing (his gaze lingers on Jisung) and tells them to hurry up. His mom tries to throw a kitchen cloth at him for trying to cut the conversation with her  _ favorite sons _ short. (Jisung almost cries but he bravely masks it by making fun of Hyunjin.)

When they get to Hyunjin’s spacious, cozily furnished bedroom, he’s already sprawled across his bed, staring at the screen of his phone. He sticks it into their direction when they enter, showing them his favorite collection of pictures he uses as his fashion inspiration. 

“For making me come here, I’m taking anything I want from your closet,” Jeongin tells him and Jisung doesn’t even have to look at Hyunjin to know he’s already obediently nodding.

“Of course. Whatever you want,” he says. 

Jeongin grins under his breath and heads for the enormous closet. As he’s turning it upside down, mumbling to himself, Jisung jumps into Hyunjin’s bed, crushing him with his body. 

Hyunjin lets out an exaggerated groan; Jisung knows for a fact that he does not weigh that much. 

“Why’d you need me here?” he asks, completely accidentally digging his elbow into Hyunjin’s back. 

“For emotional—Auch—! For emotional support,” Hyunjin breathes heavily.

Jisung feels like driving everyone mad so he leans in and presses a wet peck on his friend’s cheek. Revenge, motherfucker. 

Hyunjin twists his face in disgust. “Ew, now I need to wash my face again.” 

Jisung grins, rolling off Hyunjin’s back to push him off the bed. Hyunjin gorans and would definitely throw himself at Jisung to strangle him but Jeongin turns to face them and—obviously—Hyunjin focuses all his attention on his favorite person on the planet. 

“Your jewelry is in the bathroom, right?” Jeongin asks, getting a nod as an answer. 

“The first drawer!” Hyunjin shouts after him when he’s already disappeared behind the door.

Gathering himself off the floor, he puts on a more serious expression. He stands by the bedside for a moment like he doesn’t know what to do and eventually heads for the closet. 

Jisung wordlessly watches him pretend to be looking through the clothes on the hangers. He’s known Hyunjin for ages—Jisung realizes he wants to talk about something. It’s better to wait; this time he doesn’t have to do that for too long.

Hyunjin clears his throat. 

“My parents told me yours are  _ still _ in Osaka,” he mutters, turning back to face Jisung. 

And Jisung’s eyes are blown wide. He feels his heartbeat picking up and a breath catches in his throat. He should’ve expected just that. 

“That means—That would mean you were alone,” Hyunjin carries on, stubbornly trying to make Jisung look him in the eye. “Jisung, please don’t tell me you were alone for the holidays.”

A long moment of silence passes before Jisung mumbles, “Then I won’t.”

Hyunjin abandons pretending to be busy with inspecting his closet and sits down on his bed, beside Jisung lying prone. He heaves a sigh but his hand still finds its way to Jisung’s hair to card through it. 

“You could’ve corrected me when I said you were spending New Years with your parents. You could’ve said something.” Jisung props on his elbow and opens his mouth to respond but Hyunjin carries on, “If you didn’t want to come over for dinner to any of us, you could’ve said that, too. We’d understand. It’s just—I don’t know, Jisung. You’re my family, so I’m just sad that you were alone.” 

Jisung—despite knowing well he doesn’t just burst out crying—feels tears pricking in his eyes. When he tries to hold them back, his eyes only sting more. There are no words meaningful enough to express how grateful Jisung is.

Hyunjin has the right to be upset with him for lying but he isn’t. And maybe it’s more about Jisung and his parents than Hyunjin but still—his heart feels warm and light and something bursts in his chest because Hyunjin has just called him family and his hand is still combing through Jisung’s hair.

Hyunjin feels like comfort personified. 

Before Jisung gets to express his love in pitiful words, loud footsteps echo through the hallway and Felix bursts into the room, immediately throwing himself onto the bed. 

Jisung can pretend his eyes are welled up with tears because of Felix’s weight on his back and if none of his friends buys it, they don’t say a word. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Minho isn’t a party enthusiast, quite contrary to what others say about him. He shows up at them sporadically—or rather when they’re thrown by his friends. Minho prefers to drink with a small group of people he actually likes. Or—even better—walk around the city and go to sleep.

This time, however, he has the choice of either sitting at home with his parents or partying at Jaemin’s. It’s clear he shows up at the party on the New Year’s Eve night, with a considerable amount of hesitance. 

It’s noisy; songs played from huge speakers set in the corners of the living room drown out the conversations of the dressed up partygoers, making them shout louder. Minho hasn’t been expecting a fashion show but he should’ve figured a bunch of rich kids wouldn’t want to miss the chance to shine. He shakes his head and makes his way through the small crowd, intent on finding his friends. 

It’s Changbin who notices him first. He calls Minho’s name and waves his hand, holding a paper cup in it; so vigorously that the drink partially spills on his pants, and he curses under his breath. Hyunjin, sitting on the couch backrest, giggles, throwing his head back. 

Minho greets them with a nod when he comes closer. Changbin scoots over to the side to make some space for him, but Minho adds, “I’ll look around and get myself a drink.” 

Changbin stares at him for a moment. “He’s not here,” he says eventually. Hyunjin looks between them, clearly curious, but Minho doubts he’s figured out who Changbin means. 

But Minho has. He shrugs, though, and leaves them alone. By himself, he heads to the kitchen—calmer and much quieter than the rest of the house—and pours himself vodka with grapefruit juice. Minho downs it in one go.

Then the kitchen door flings open and some girls come inside. Minho doesn’t remember what they end up talking about but he has a couple drinks with them and it’s nice. After they leave to dance, he finds Changbin and Hyunjin. 

Minho isn’t a lightweight but tonight he feels like he’s watching everything through a haze. He doesn’t want to be here but it’s better to begin this New Year with people, not alone. 

He squeezes his eyes shut just for a short moment to relieve them of irritating colorful lights. To be fair it’s what’s bothering him the most—after getting used to the buzz, it’s no longer too much to bear. 

Out of nowhere, Minho feels someone sitting in his lap. He blinks, trying to get his eyes used to the unnatural lights again; when he regains the ability to see, he isn’t surprised to find Momo smiling from ear to ear right in front of him. 

“You’re dozing off, grandpa, I need to get you moving,” she shouts, standing up. Brushing invisible dust off her shorts, she stretches her hand out for Minho to grasp. 

He doesn’t feel like dancing but there’s something about Momo that makes him want to  _ live _ ; he shakes his ass, does a bunch of very lame moves and sings his heart out screaming lyrics that aren’t always most accurate just because it’s his kind of fun. It’s not like anyone is paying them attention; Minho can have some fun without caring about what others think. 

“I’ve got lipstick in my jacket,” Momo tells him when they get off the makeshift living room dance floor to have a drink. They’re sitting in the empty kitchen, munching on cookies everyone seems to have forgotten about. 

Minho bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t feel like making an impression tonight. “Don’t need it.” 

Momo’s eyebrows shoot up but she doesn’t say anything else. She watches Minho, though, with her hawk-like, piercing eyes. When she eventually opens her mouth to ask the question bothering her, the kitchen door swings open. They both shift their gazes that way to see Sana peeking in and shaking her head with a smile upon noticing them. 

“Should’ve expected you to run away into solitude,” she says, jumping onto the bar stool next to them. “A lot of people are leaving. I’m pretty sure Jaem will have to gather clothes off bushes tomorrow morning.” 

Minho twists his face in disgust. Momo, on the other hand, bursts out laughing; Sana shoves a cookie in her mouth, shaking her head disapprovingly, though her expression is so clearly fond. Minho feels his stomach doing a flip. He downs his drink. 

As it turns out, Sana was right. Despite it being a New Year’s Eve party, when Minho returns to the living area with them, there are significantly fewer people there. Even him—the person who can be easily classified as party pooper—intends to stay at least until midnight. Losers, he thinks. 

Some boys that Minho is sure he’s seeing for the first time in his life, begin yelling something about playing spin the bottle. Minho rolls his eyes, sure that the only thing they actually want from this middle-school esque game is to find themselves someone for the night. Quite pathetic, but who is he to judge.

Momo, on the contrary, finds it a great idea and drags both him and Sana to the large circle forming on the floor. Minho sits on the couch, a little further from all the  _ fun _ , so he can get out and disappear if there’s a need to.

With utmost boredom he watches people sharing chaste kisses and those braver, who have to be actually pulled away from each other. Minho feels his stomach twisting every time and ends up taking sip after sip of his bitter drink to get rid of this ugly feeling. He’s never wanted to leave a party as much as he wants to now. 

He tilts his head back, leaning it on the headrest. All those flashing lights make his head throb. Maybe he’s drunk too much—the knot in his belly doesn’t disappear. 

Minho is confused when someone calls his name. His eyes shoot up, brows knitting, only to find most of the people around him staring. 

“It’s fallen on you and Momo. You gotta kiss,” someone Minho doesn’t know tells him, patting him on the back. 

He cocks an eyebrow—both at the stranger touching him and the concept of kissing his best friend. It’s so boring Minho has forgotten he’s theoretically taking part in a game. 

Heaving a sigh, he gets up from the couch to crouch next to Momo sitting on the floor. 

“It’s all your fault,” he says, bitter yet still with a hint of amusement. Momo rolls her eyes. “Remember middle school? That was all your fault, too.” 

“So this is not your first time?” Sana cuts in. Minho looks at her, at her hand, at her fingers slotted with Momo’s. A corner of his mouth curls up. 

“Yeah. She wanted to check if she liked boys and, apparently, I was the most handsome out of everyone she knew, even as a twelve year old.”

Momo bites, “Rather, you were the only boy I was friends with, then. And I did it for you, too.” 

“Right, right.” Minho nods with a smile.

He’s hoped their conversation has bored the rest of partygoers enough to busy themselves with something else and that they won’t have to kiss but he’s been wrong—another foreign voice expresses their disappointment.

“Is it alright?” he asks, both of the girls beside him. 

Sana sighs. “If it was someone else… but you’re—” 

“Gay?” Minho flashes his teeth. He almost falls, losing his balance when Sana pushes his shoulder. 

“Jeez, just kiss already.” 

Minho knows for a fact that they’re the best looking at this lame party, so when they finally join their lips together in a (very, very short) kiss, he isn’t surprised by the murmurs of their company. But they break apart so quickly that her lipstick doesn’t even manage to leave a mark on his lips.

“Yuck,” she mumbles, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “Disgusting.”

Minho grimaces with distaste. It felt wrong. “Yeah, let’s not do this ever again.” 

Momo bursts into laughter, patting his thigh and allowing him to sit down beside them. Minho rests his head in Sana’s lap as she hastily places a kiss on her girlfriend’s lips.

“Aren’t you getting too comfortable?” she bites. 

Minho breaks into a satisfied grin when, despite her words, her fingers tangle in his hair. And if Momo mumbles something that sounds a lot like “he’s fucking insuffeable”, Minho turns a deaf ear to it. 

Even before midnight, firework displays start from all sides. Minho doesn’t like the noise and explosions and all the rumbles, so he stays close to his friends. However, he prefers to leave all couples alone, confident that most of them want to start the New Year with a kiss; he doesn’t want to start his own watching. 

Minho finds Chan and, with a glass of champagne in hand, stands beside him in the garden. Before the clock strikes midnight, Chan tells him, “Make a wish.” 

As the fireworks splatter across the sky in all the colors of the rainbow, Minho closes his eyes. He can’t help but smile under his breath, drinking the rest of his champagne.

Strangely, the only thing coming to his mind is Jisung. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

It seems like the ground has swallowed Jisung whole. Minho, having not seen him throughout the first days after the winter break, thinks Jisung might be travelling somewhere with his parents, spending the beginning of the New Year somewhere more interesting than home. But a week passes and he isn’t coming back. 

Minho finds himself thinking back, wondering if it wasn’t him who did something wrong; maybe Jisung once again set his sights on avoiding him. And that’s absurd—from what Minho remembers, Jisung has actually replied to his messages during the break and they haven’t seen each other after that. Minho didn’t even get a chance to annoy him. 

He shouldn’t care like he does. He really shouldn’t. 

On Wednesday Minho concludes he’s giving himself this one last chance; during the lunch break, instead of the canteen, he heads to the library. There’s no one behind the front desk but it’s not like Minho cares. He isn’t here to read, and if Jisung isn’t hiding somewhere in the back of the room, he’ll be out in two seconds. 

Minho rushes to the corner usually occupied by Jisung and stops in his tracks when he actually sees him there. The thought that has been coiling in his mind, roaring and roaring about how something bad must have happened, that Eunjun must have gotten to Jisung and hurt him, vanishes. 

Minho doesn’t speak as he sits down opposite him. He’s been counting on Jisung to say something first, but all he’s doing is stubbornly staring at the papers laid out on the table, like Minho isn’t even there. 

Leaning back on the wooden chair, Minho lets out a sigh. He isn’t so sure himself why he came here in the first place. 

“You haven’t been to school lately,” he ends up saying, just to break the silence hovering over them. 

Jisung clears his throat but doesn’t look up. “I have.”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “Well, you haven’t been to bio.” Jisung doesn’t answer; he’s only nervously swinging his leg under the table. “Kang was asking about the projects.”

“You could’ve told her we were ready,” Jisung mumbles, as if reluctant. Minho seriously doesn’t understand what this all is about. 

“Are we?” 

Jisung eventually lifts his eyes up to look at Minho and mutters a small, “Yes.” Sliding his tongue over his lips, he adds, “I finished the slides so we are.”

Minho wants to snap and say that well, Jisung could’ve told him just that instead of—clearly—avoiding him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he nods in understanding and doesn’t ask anything else. 

Jisung doesn’t seem interested in keeping their conversation going and Minho doesn’t care enough to stick his nose into things he’s not wanted in. He doesn’t have anything else to do, though, and he’s already told Chan and Changbin he wouldn’t be eating lunch with them; they’ve probably driven somewhere and Minho doesn’t want to interrupt. He takes out his phone out of the pocket of his jacket, then, and—to kill time—mindlessly scrolls through Instagram.

Jisung is bad at pretending he isn’t ignoring him. Minho hasn’t done anything to him, so his sneaky glances and huffs full of irritation only annoy him. Maybe he doesn’t have anything else to do but he doesn’t want to ruin his own day because of Jisung’s everchanging moods. Before he gets to stand up and leave him be, however, Jisung clears his throat.

“So… you’ve kissed Momo?”

His question catches Minho off guard. He frowns, not understanding why Jisung is asking in the first place; how does he even know. 

“Why do you care?” he asks instead, and when those words fall off his lips, Minho grows curious about the answer himself. 

Jisung presses his lips together in a thin line just to open them a mere second later. He looks lost for a moment, as if he’s searching for the answer, too, but he can’t find it anywhere in his head. 

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

Confusion is the clearest thing Minho can read off his face. Jisung heaves a sigh and runs fingers through his hair. He gathers his papers, arranging them into a pile and snaps his book close, not even bothering to slip a bookmark between the pages. 

“I thought you weren’t there,” Minho says, meaning the New Year’s Eve party at Jaemin’s. It’s what Changbin told him, and Changbin must have gotten this information from Hyunjin—who’s one of his closest friends; he must have known whether Jisung came or not. 

“But I was.”

_ Because I wanted to see you _ dies on his tongue and Jisung can’t get rid of the bitter aftertaste it leaves in his mouth.

He wasn’t going to show up—he was quite content with his evening with Scooby Doo but, when he couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, the loneliness became unbearable. Jisung knew no one would hold him accountable for his stupid decisions, so he got into his car and drove to Jaemin’s house. He didn’t come there for Minho, but when he saw his car in the driveway, his heart stuttered. And it’s still the thing Jisung can’t wrap his head around.

He didn’t know what the hell he was thinking showing up but memories of the last party hit him with double strength as soon as he stepped inside the house. There were fewer people in the living area than he had expected, but they were still dancing with barely any space between them—he had to push his way through. 

Through the ajar kitchen door, he saw someone pouring themself a drink and figured he could use one too. He downed it in one go, walking straight back to the living room. He broke out of the crowd and, standing aside, made another stupid decision.

It was the end of the year, anyway. He could erase everything from his memory the following day. 

“Hey,” Jisung hesitantly smiled at a girl he recognized from his English classes. She looked up at him, eyes bright, and tilted her head to the side to let him know she was listening. “Have you seen Lee Minho anywhere?” 

She bit her lip thoughtfully, then turned to her friend and whispered something into her ear. Offering Jisung an abashed smile, she pointed her finger somewhere behind his back. 

Before a simple word of thanks even slipped past his lips, Jisung froze. 

Minho was kissing Momo. 

Lump that formed in his throat became unbearable. Jisung clenched his jaw and wordlessly passed the girls, passed the people dancing on the makeshift dance floor, passed the people whose only job seemed to be blocking the hallway.

Jisung managed to reach the exit of the house and slammed the door close behind him with a bang, making the person sitting on the steps jump.

“Seungmin?” he asked, surprised. His friend looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Why are you sitting here?”

Seungmin just shook his head. He got up from the stone steps and walked over to Jisung, wrapping his arms around his waist. All his anger and whatever the hell was making his blood boil vanished at once. Jisung couldn’t ignore the way Seungmin sniffed, so he slowly moved away from him and grabbed his hand as he led him to his own car.

“Fuck,” Jisung groaned, stopping in his tracks. “I had a drink.”

“I hadn’t. I’ll drive,” Seungmin mumbled. 

Jisung was skeptical; he suggested to sit in silence for a moment, calm down, and then go to his place. He didn’t want to get anything out of Seungmin until he had tissues and a liter of ice cream at hand.

Seungmin took a deep breath, nodding to himself. He started the engine with hands less trembling and expression stone cold, driving through the gate, then headed for Jisung's house.

His sudden facade of calmness scared Jisung even more. How many times has this happened in the past? How many times has Seungmin gritted his teeth and pretended nothing was bothering him in front of everyone? 

Jisung placed his hand on his friend’s thigh, gently squeezing it as Seungmin stopped the car in the driveway. They sat in silence for a moment, until the light in the car went out and Seungmin let out a shaky breath through his mouth.

“Let’s go,” Jisung suggested, voice quiet. He led Seungmin to his room after locking the car, the house and turning on the burglar alarm. Honestly, he didn’t think Seungmin would be coming back home that night. 

They sat leaning against the headboard of Jisung’s bed, and Seungmin hugged one of his pillows. Jisung let him gather himself, not minding sitting in silence because he needed a moment to breathe, too. It was a long time before Seungmin eventually spoke. 

“I feel like the worst person in the world,” he admits quietly. “You know how Hyunjin and Changbin are dating, right? It’s just so… fuck!” 

Jisung’s eyes widened, but he quickly grabbed Seungmin’s hand in support. He had no idea, couldn’t imagine where his story was headed. There were too many possibilities and Jisung just had to wait to hear the right one. 

“I don’t—I don’t know how to say it.” 

Maybe Seungmin just couldn’t make himself say it. Maybe, just like Jisung, he had something stuck in his throat because he’d suppressed it for a long time and now, no matter how many times he tried to get it out, it just wouldn’t leave. 

Jisung pursed his lips in a narrow line, not quite sure if what he was about to say wouldn’t cross the invisible line and would only do more harm than good. But if Seungmin wasn’t going to say it, they wouldn’t get anywhere. 

“Do you—Uh—Do you like Hyunjin?” he stuttered out eventually. 

Seungmin grimaced. Not even turning, he shook his head to deny. Jisung felt the knot around his stomach tightening. 

It took him too long to ask the right thing; Seungmin looked up, turning to face Jisung with eyes welled up and Jisung knew the answer before he even opened his mouth. 

He let out a shuddering breath. “You like Changbin.” 

Not a question, no answer needed but Seungmin still nodded. Jisung doesn’t remember seeing him cry a lot, maybe in kindergarten but it doesn’t count because everyone cries three times an hour as a kid. But this—Seungmin wiping his cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie and sniffling—wrenched Jisung’s heart. 

Seungmin’s lower lip was trembling when he tried to speak. 

Jisung remembered all the times Seungmin squeezed his hand whenever Hyunjin mentioned Changbin, how smiles disappeared from his face and how indifferent he tried to appear each time. He should’ve figured it out. He should’ve asked. 

“It’s just—I’ve liked him for so long.”

Jisung turned his head towards Seungmin, staring at him with his mouth open. Seungmin didn’t dare to return his gaze. He just blinked to get rid of the tears lurking in the corners of his eyes.

“But Hyunjin—Hyunjin likes him too. And Changbin likes Hyunjin. It’s just—I can’t believe I’m crying over this… Fucking hell.” Seungmin tilts his head back. “I went to the bathroom and they were there and… they didn’t even notice me. I thought I could do it. I thought I could suppress it and just… get rid of everything. I mean, Hyunjin’s talked about him so many times and I was—I just haven’t seen them for myself. So I’m…” 

Jisung didn’t hesitate any longer and pulled Seungmin into a hug. “It’s alright, Minnie. Everything’s going to be just fine,” he mumbles, over and over, carding fingers through Seungmin’s hair. 

“Hyunjin doesn’t deserve this.”

Jisung furrows his brows. “Listen to me. It’s not your fault that you like Changbin. You didn’t choose to and you didn’t do it on purpose to hurt Hyunjin. Your feelings are valid and you shouldn’t belittle them.”

Seungmin nodded against Jisung’s chest, but Jisung felt that this wasn’t it—comforting him wouldn’t be so easy. And he himself didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to meddle or hurt any of them.

“If you decide to tell Hyunjin, I’ll go with you and hold your hand. If you decide you want to keep it to yourself, I’ll take this secret to the grave.” 

Seungmin sighed then, and they stayed like this for the rest of the night; Jisung couldn’t sleep a wink. He stared at the glowing in the dark stars glued to his ceiling, unable to shake off the events of the ill-fated New Year’s Eve.

On New Year’s morning, Seungmin didn’t utter a word about Hyunjin or ask why Jisung suddenly showed up at a party he had said he wouldn’t be coming to. The next day at school, however, he quietly said, “That conversation didn’t happen.” Jisung just nodded, respecting that Seungmin preferred to keep it to himself. He hoped that whenever Seungmin needed it, he wouldn’t hesitate to turn to him, though.

The school bell ringing brings Jisung back to reality, but when he looks up, Minho is gone. With a sigh he gets up from his chair and puts the book he’s been reading back on the shelf, then goes to class.

Jisung wishes things were different. Clearer.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The day of the ski resort field trip comes sooner than Jisung has expected; he’s been so disoriented lately that, honestly, it’s the last thing he’s been thinking about. He doesn’t really feel like going but all of his friends do and Jisung doesn’t want to stay alone at school for whole four days. That would be a torment bigger than riding a packed bus to the other side of the country. 

The school (or rather an anonymous donor) has paid half the price of the trip and with the cost reduced by staying at Hyunjin’s family resort, everything is ridiculously cheap. 

And Jisung could use some time to relax, even if skiing is definitely not his thing. 

He shows up in the school parking lot on Tuesday morning, nine o’clock on the dot, saying goodbye to his driver with a smile. From the group chat messages, Jisung knows that his friends are already on the bus, so he’s headed straight there. Before getting onto the bus, Jisung puts his sports bag in the luggage compartment. Pausing by the door, he looks around and it doesn’t take him even a second to notice his friends occupying seats in the back of the bus. 

Seungmin’s hand shoots up to wave at Jisung as soon as he notices him. Jisung speeds up, bumping into a few people sitting by the aisle along the way. He keeps mumbling ‘excuse me’s without even looking back.

Before plopping down on the seat next to Seungmin, Jisung greets his friends (plus Chan and Changbin). Hyunjin sits sideways, leaning back on his boyfriend, with feets dangling over the edge of his seat. Jisung eyes him but sits down without saying anything. 

He suppresses the urge to ask Seungmin if everything is alright, if he doesn’t want to move to the front, or if he needs Jisung to  _ jokingly _ tell Hyunjin and Changbin to keep their hands off each other. Instead, Jisung offers him a smile and heaves a sigh.

“I’m sleepy,” he mumbles. Seungmin pats his own shoulder to encourage him to lay down. “Hmm… I’ll use you but not yet. When we hit the road, you’ll make for my pillow for the entire ride.” 

Seungmin chuckles, shaking his head. Seeing him smile, Jisung feels  _ a little _ better.

He tilts his head back against the headrest. For a moment he watches the front of the bus and Mr Jeon counting the students seated inside. Either because of the opened door or the fact that it’s freezing cold, Jisung shivers.

“I hope they’ll turn on the heating,” he mumbles. 

“With so many rich kids going, you’d think they would hustle a ride more comfortable than this.” 

Jisung snaps his head towards the aisle, where Lee Minho is looking at him with a feisty glint in his eyes. As he finishes talking, he shoves the purple lollipop back into his mouth.

Jisung wants to say something but stays staring at Minho with his mouth hanging open. Before he comes up with something witty, Changbin calls, “On time as always, Mr Lee!”

Minho rolls his eyes and begins walking forward again. His hand lingers on the top of Jisung’s seat for a moment too long. Jisung feels that for the split second when his hand is so close to Jisung’s face, the chill radiating from Minho has found its way to his bones. He shivers and pulls the scarf tighter around his neck. 

“Believe me, I didn’t even like getting up before noon today. Being here is a nightmare,” Minho tells them, plopping down on the seat next to Chan. 

It has never occurred to Jisung that someone like Minho might go on a school trip. Especially since he himself is now loudly expressing how he’d rather be anywhere but here. It isn’t Jisung’s business, though, and he doesn’t care, either.

So he takes the tangled earphones out of the pocket of his jacket and plugs them into his phone. Seungmin lets out a dramatic sigh as he sees the complete lack of attempt to untangle the cables on his part, and does the work himself. Instead of handing Jisung both earphones back, he puts one in his ear and pats his shoulder again for Jisung to rest on. This time, Jisung accepts the offer with a smile, immediately feeling warmer thanks to Seungmin’s body heat. He turns on one of the calmer playlists and Seungmin only hums in approval.

Jisung closes his eyes, but can’t quite sleep. He’s drifting on the verge of dream and reality, returning to his senses as soon as any of the students speaks louder. He’s exhausted by the time they get to the ski resort.

It looks more like a five star hotel (especially with the glow of the setting sun) but it’s not like Jisung has expected anything else. Jisung didn’t leave the bus during any of the layovers so he’s quite happy to finally stretch his limbs. He takes his bag out of the luggage compartment and waits for his friends to find theirs so they can go inside together.

The view takes Jisung’s breath away. Hyunjin’s family resort appears almost magical against the high hill—steep and snow-covered. Conifers grow around the entire property, with a bunch of single bushes that managed to make it through the cold weather.

Jisung turns his back toward the resort, cautiously eyeing the slope on the other side. With its size, it isn’t exactly encouraging Jisung to pick up skiing. He’ll feel much safer going on a walk or sitting by the fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate. 

When they finally go inside, a wave of warmth hits Jisung right in the face. He lets out a deep sigh, relaxing. Wall of windows lets in the orange light of the setting sun and makes the already spacious main room appear more impressive. 

Jisung notices a lot of dark wood, beige couches and armchairs surrounding the fireplace and fluffy carpets, with their sole existence inviting him to sit back and relax. 

Students gather at the reception desk while Mrs Jeon and Hyewon are dealing with all the paperwork; a teacher Jisung doesn’t know is talking to the group of students next to them. Everyone seems lenient. 

He isn’t sure what the room allocation situation will look like, but when teachers tell them to divide into groups of up to four, Hyunjin—with clear amusement—leans to whisper into Jisung’s ear.

“We’re getting the suite.” 

Of course they are—Hyunjin is the son of the owners; if he wants a suite, he gets a suite. Jisung isn’t going to protest and doesn’t feel bad for using connections to have it better than the other students. They should all be happy they didn’t end up in a squalid motel without access to electricity. 

“It’s not that big of a suite, really,” Hyunjin tells them, swiping the key-card. “But we’ve got two rooms and the best bathroom in the entire resort.” 

Jisung breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief when Hyunjin pushes the door open and lets them in with a smile. After kicking his shoes off in the vestibule, he throws himself down on the sofa upholstered in a beige imitation of leather. Jisung thinks he could sleep like this. He could honestly sleep through the entire trip; it’s not like it matters. 

“Dinner’s in half an hour,” Felix reminds him but still curls up on the armchair, with an equally content face. 

Hyunjin laughs at their tiredness and leaves them be, at least for that short moment they have before they need to leave. He heads towards the dark, wooden door that must lead to one of the bedrooms. He peeks inside and does the same with the other door.

“Please, I’m begging—Please tell me there are king-sized beds instead of the singular,” Jisung mumbles with his face pressed into one of the cushions. “I feel like cuddling you all to death.” 

It’s not like they are a very, very affectionate group of friends; they’ve just known each other since they were little kids—it’s only natural to be close when you grow up together. And Jisung has to admit he’s missed affection throughout the holidays break as he was alone for most of the time. Yeah, when they returned to school he could hold his friends and kick them under the tables as much as he wanted, but he still hasn’t used up all of his Affection Energy. Jisung needs to hug someone—he needs to be hugged. 

Seungmin takes up the spot beside Jisung, lifting his legs and placing them on his own lap so that Jisung can still lie sprawled on the couch. Jeongin follows, lying down on the fluffy carpet with a delighted sigh. 

“Time for a nap, kids,” he mumbles, already closing his eyes. 

“Can we stay like this ‘til tomorrow?” Felix rasps out. Jisung glances to the side and bites back the chuckle, seeing him already shrunk in the armchair, dozing off. 

Hyunjin ruffles his hair, passing him on the way to the couch. “I’m sorry but we can’t.”

Seungmin agrees with a hum and palms Jisung’s knees. “Jeon will definitely give us millions of instructions and get pissed off if we don’t show up.”

“Yeah, yeah. That, and the dinner.” 

Jisung tangles his fingers in Hyunjin’s hair as soon as he sits down on the carpet next to the sofa. Braiding hair is difficult with one hand, so he stays combing through it; Hyunjin almost purrs with satisfaction.

“It’s a pity we didn’t come here for New Year’s Eve,” he says, tilting his head back. “It was super boring at Jaemin’s. And, besides, we’d be altogether. You’d come, right, Jisung?”

Jisung nods in response, though Hyunjin can’t see it. Seungmin straightens up, adjusting Jisung’s legs in his lap at the mention of the party. 

Jisung wishes they spent New Year’s Eve here. Away from parties and drunk kisses, broken hearts and knots tightening around stomachs. Many things would be better then.

They come down to dinner a few minutes after the arranged time, but the dining room isn’t filled with students as it should be. Mrs Jeon doesn’t even try to hide the discontent. They prefer to not become victims of that; they sit down at the table furthest from her and wait for their food.

Jisung is sitting with his back to the entrance, but when Hyunjin waves at someone with a big smile painted across his face, he can only assume it’s Changbin. Jisung hopes he and his friends won’t sit anywhere near them; he would have to bear not only Minho’s presence, but also worry about Seungmin. It’s definitely not the most relaxing vision. 

So he takes it with utmost delight when Hyunjin lowers his hand and switches the topic of their conversation to what they might do at the resort. It doesn’t escape Jisung’s attention, though, how the slight smile—the remnant of an interaction with Chanbin—doesn’t leave his lips even when they’re eating. 

Professor Jeon presents them with the rules of the trip, with particular emphasis on the prohibition of stimulants of every kind, and says that they’re old enough to decide how they want to spend their free time (but apparently not enough to have a sip of wine). She only forbids them to leave the resort grounds and practically begs to stay safe, then finally allows them to return to their rooms. 

They split between two bedrooms, one for Seungmin, Hyunjin and Jeongin, and the other for Jisung and Felix. Turns out, if five of them were to occupy one bed, they would have to chain themselves to it so as not to push one another off.

It’s always hard for Jisung to sleep in a bed that isn’t his own, but this time he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow and Felix’s arms slip around his waist to hold him.

When he’s awoken by Jeongin jumping into their bed and crushing them with his weight, Jisung actually feels well-rested. (And that’s a new thing; Jisung hasn’t been able to get a lot of sleep lately.)

Instead of pushing the  _ intruder  _ off, Jisung wraps his arms around Jeongin, preventing his escape. He might not look like the most dangerous person but Jisung does have some strength. And he very much likes to use it to annoy his friends. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Jeongin mumbles from where his cheek is pressed to Jisung’s chest. “I’ll be good, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be good.” 

Jisung pretends to think, humming, then squeezes Jeongin tighter anyway. Jeongin lets out a shriek, and when Jisung finally lets go of him, he stands up, stumbles and kicks him in the shin, fleeing the room. After being left alone, Jisung lies wrapped in the warm duvet for a while longer, staring at the ceiling. He misses his glowing stars. 

Reluctantly, Jisung climbs out of the bed; he shivers as his feet touch the cold floor. He doesn’t feel like eating breakfast, so after brushing his teeth and hair, he joins the rest of his friends chatting in the living area. He sits down on the armrest of the sofa without a word.

“Chan says they’ll be ready in a minute,” Felix tells them, tearing his eyes away from the screen of his phone. “I guess we can wait for them in the lobby.”

“Wanna go to the slope with us, Jisung?”

His eyebrows shoot up at Hyunjin’s question; Jisung is amused that he’s even being asked. “Sorry, guys, but I don’t really feel like spending the next few months with my whole body plastered.” 

“The slope is literally outside our window and you won’t even try? It’s a sin.” Felix shakes his head in pretend disappointment. A mischievous smile spreads across his lips, so Jisung doesn’t take it to heart, sticking his tongue out at Felix instead.

“I can do a lot of fun stuff without breaking bones, thank you very much.”

“Like?” Hyunjin asks, doubtful. 

“Sleep,” Jisung shrugs, and his friends burst out laughing; they think he’s joking—a real comedian!—but he isn’t really.

He leaves them afterward, going back to the bedroom himself. He scoops Felix’s fluffy pink blanket with gold stars off the bed and drapes it over his shoulders, heading back to the living area. The boys are putting on their coveralls as Jisung closes the suite door behind him with a smile. 

The hallway is pleasantly warm, but Jisung still wraps the blanket tighter around himself. He goes down the wooden stairs to the main lounge on the first floor and begins to look around the room.

Everything is white outside the windows; the sun is shining, although the sky is cloudy and he thinks it might be freezing, but he hasn’t checked the weather forecast so he doesn’t know how cold it actually is. 

The lounge is cozy. A dark, wooden floor covered with a fluffy, beige carpet adds elegance to the interior. Dark brown cushions sit on the sofas and armchairs in a color similar to the carpet. In a stone-lined but very modern fireplace, the fire is burning with bright light, enveloping the entire room in a delicate orange hue. 

One of the walls is completely covered with bookshelves. As Jisung gets closer, he notices the wide range of themes of the books at a glance and begins to study the titles with curiosity. There are too many to choose from, and he can’t decide which one to read. So he closes his eyes, fingers delicately brushing over the book spines, and blindly chooses one of them. 

‘Neverending Story’ the title says. Jisung doesn’t look long at the cover; he immediately takes it to the couch with him. He makes himself comfortable and adjusts the pink blanket sliding off his shoulders. He sighs, pleased as the warmth from the fireplace makes his body shiver.

It’s quiet. The only people in the lounge with him are an elderly couple of women chatting at a small table by the window, and the receptionist sitting at his desk, whom Jisung could see out of the corner of his eye. 

The reading is just as pleasant as Jisung wishes it to be; in such an atmosphere he devours page after page, chapter after chapter. He looks away from the book only when he hears footsteps on the stairs, and then the voices of his friends echoing through the lobby. It took them a long time to come down, he concludes. 

They notice him immediately after stepping in. Felix smiles, pointing at the blanket Jisung is wrapped in.

It’s only when they come closer that Jisung realizes they’re not alone. He remembers they agreed to join the others and go to the slope together. Changbin is talking on the phone, simultaneously consulting something with Chan. And Minho—Minho is looking at Jisung with one of his eyebrows cocked and lips twisted in a slight smile. 

Jisung looks away. 

“You sure you don’t wanna come with us?” Felix asks again but Jisung doesn’t hesitate to shake his head. 

“Positive,” he adds to make it sound more convincing. He lifts up the book he’s reading to show them he’s already made himself busy with an activity more interesting than freezing on the slope. When Hyunjin opens his mouth (definitely to keep trying to persuade him), Jisung carries on, “I can’t ski anyway. It would be pointless.”

Chan turns his head first, then steps closer to the half-circle they’ve formed around Jisung, leaving Changbin alone with the call. He rests his elbow on Felix’s shoulder, smiles nonchalantly and—throwing a look at Minho standing beside him—says, “Minho could always teach you.” 

Jisung blinks. Minho’s eyes ease when they fall on gim; a contrast to the glare he was fixing Chan with a mere second ago. 

Minho clears his throat. “Yeah, sure. Why not,” he shrugs, though it’s clear he’s hesitant. 

Jisung’s gaze lingers on his face for a moment too long before he drops it to the floor. “No, seriously! I’m fine here, away from the risk of either breaking my neck or freezing my ass off,” Jisung rolls his eyes, playful. “But thanks.” 

Felix shrugs, though Hyunjin seems to still want to convince him. Jeongin just sighs and rolls his eyes to pull him away from Jisung; he’s sure Hyunjin might want to drag Jisung up the slope by force, trying to do everything for him to have fun. 

“Everything’s booked,” Changbin interrupts, sliding his phone into the pocket of his jacket. Most eyes go to him before the boys (minus Jisung) nod in understanding and begin to gather to leave.

“Go to the kitchens and get yourself a hot choco,” Hyunjin suggests, patting Jisung on the knee before he trails through the lounge to catch up with the others. 

While they’re on the slope, Jisung has nothing better to do than wander around the resort. He finds a bowling alley in the basement, a squash court and an indoor swimming pool; he immediately wishes he thought of taking his swimming trunks. There isn’t much to do here, though. Most tourists enjoy the beautiful views outside the resort, but spend their days in the town or on the slope. 

As Hyunjin instructed him, as the sun is setting, Jisung goes to the kitchen to get himself a mug of hot chocolate. The woman he saw at the reception desk the day before recognizes him as soon as he walks in and announces loudly that “the boy from young Hwang’s school” has come. Jisung feels the embarrassment creeping up when one of the employees immediately jumps up to him, asking what they can do for him.

With a mug in his hands, Jisung returns to the lounge area, where he sits down on the sofa and wraps the blanket around himself again. He finishes reading ‘Neverending story’ and without hesitation reaches for another one, hoping that it will be as interesting as the first one (at least to a small extent). 

Time and time again the students return to the resort in snow-covered suits, complaining about the cold, but with tired smiles painted on their faces. Jisung waits for his friends to appear inside, too, and a moment after an old lady reading a fashion magazine takes the chair next to him, the front door opens and a group of giggling teenagers scrambles inside.

Jisung stands up, stretching his tired limbs. He picks up the book, tucks the blanket rolled into a ball under his arm, and heads for the stairs, where he waits for his friends. When they finally show up, their faces are flushed from the cold (even red as tomatoes, Jisung would say), and traces of snow linger on their suits (even though they made sure to shake it off in front of the door). But none of them is howling in pain, so Jisung breathes a sigh of relief—no one is hurt. 

“Did you guys have fun?” he asks as they’re all climbing the stairs. 

“Yep, but you were right.” He grasps Jisung’s hand into his own—ice cold—lacing their fingers together. Jisung shivers, but doesn’t let go. “I think my nose will fall off.”

“You think I can kiss it better?” Felix smacks him on the shoulder but nods with a dashing smile; Jisung’s grin only widens. “Alright, baby, just wait until we’re in our room.”

Jisung loves how Felix always returns his affection; maybe Felix is even more of a cuddler—it feels like he runs on tender touches. They always show affection to their friends (Jisung a little bit more to annoy them, really); they draw energy from it. And if no one else wants to cuddle, Jisung knows Felix is always there.

One of the boys clears their throat behind them, but Jisung pays no attention. They stop at the right door, saying goodbye to the other three. Jisung just raises his hand up, not engaging in eye contact with either of them. He isn’t their friend; he still doesn’t feel completely relaxed with them. 

That night, Seungmin comes to Jisung and Felix’s bedroom, climbing onto their bed without saying a word. Despite the late hour, they’re still awake; they’re watching videos of people cleaning carpets, wondering why the fuck it’s even this satisfying. 

Seungmin settles down between them and doesn’t speak until the video ends.

“Hyunjin kept either clinging to me or pushing me off the bed,” he says, but to Jisung it doesn’t sound too convincing. He isn’t going to pry, though—if Seungmin doesn’t bring it up, it must not be that significant. Though, considering what Jisung has learnt a few days ago, he’s starting to have doubts.

Felix locks his phone and plugs it into the charger. He turns on his side to wrap his arms around Seungmin more comfortably, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Sorry for leaving you with Chan today,” he murmurs; along with the apologetic tone, there’s something more cheerful to his words.

Jisung’s eyebrow shoots up in curiosity and he lies on his side, propping up on his elbow.

“I expected the lovebirds to stick together but having to deal with Chan didn’t exactly cross my mind.” Seungmin looks at Jisung. “Did you know that he, Jeongin and Minho ran away, skiing by themselves while I—completely oblivious—gave in and thought that it would be cool if Chan showed me some tricks so I can snowboard better?”

Jisung snorts a laugh.

“They just forgot to mention that Chan completely sucks at snowboarding and—instead of learning—I had to scoop him up from the snow because he kept falling down.” Seungmin sighs with exaggerated irritation. “He was supposed to teach me, not the other way around!” 

Felix chuckles, pressing his cheek tighter against Seungmin’s shoulder. Jisung himself is holding back from bursting out laughing. It’s the middle of the night and there might be other guests in the next room; they have to be quiet.

“And he dared to say that  _ I _ was distracting him, can you believe? No, dude, you just suck at snowboarding,” Seungmin spits out, rolling his eyes. 

Jisung and Felix exchange knowing looks, though Jisung himself isn’t quite sure what he wants to convey. But Seungmin pays them no attention; instead, he lets out a heavy sigh and says it’s late and they should go to sleep. 

Jisung doesn’t plan on getting up before noon (because the only activity he can think of is taking a walk around the resort and reading more books in the lounge), but he politely mumbles a good night and closes his eyes, trying to fall asleep.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Thursday flashes before Jisung’s eyes as if it doesn’t happen at all. 

He wakes up in the morning as Seungmin and Felix are leaving the room, but he’s half-asleep then and his eyelids naturally flutter shut again. It’s too early to get up; Jisung can feel it in his bones. 

The next time he wakes up it’s around noon; rays of winter sunshine are slipping into the bedroom through not properly closed blinds. It’s then that Jisung gets up and stretches, slips into his favorite gray hoodie and black skinny jeans, unplugs his phone from the charger and strolls to the dining room. His stomach rumbles at the mere thought of lunch. 

In the dining room, he—unexpectedly—sees Jeongin sitting at the table with students Jisung knows from their math classes. He offers them a friendly smile as he walks over to their table. They don’t seem to mind him taking the empty seat, so Jisung naturally slips into their conversation. When Aeri gets a message that someone is waiting for them on the slope, she makes sure neither Jisung, nor Jeongin want to join them. They decline the offer, so the rest of the group bids them goodbye, takes their belongings, and leaves them alone.

“Why didn’t you go with the others today?” Jisung asks and takes a sip of the water he’s poured into his glass earlier. 

Jeongin watches in amusement as Jisung stuffs his cheeks with fried rice before shrugging. “I’m not freezing my ass off two days in a row,” he says. “They’ll definitely catch a cold and, once we’re back home, cry that they’re dying of fever. And I—spreading it out in time like a genius than I am—will laugh.”

Jisung snorts a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand when Jeongin taps his temple with a self-satisfied grin. 

“And you? What are the plans today?”

Jisung sets the cutlery aside and pushes his bowl away. “Oh, you’ll like them,” he says.

Jeongin does not like it. 

When Jisung leads him into the lounge area and, without a word, reaches for another book from the shelf, Jeongin mutters something under his breath and lies down on the fluffy rug, sour—as if there was not enough space on the sofas and armchairs. He takes his phone out of the pocket of his baby blue hoodie and scrolls through Instagram (definitely through memes) as Jisung settles comfortably on the couch and loses himself in the reading.

At some point, Jeongin gets up—definitely bored—and studies the bookshelves for a long time. Eventually, he manages to choose something. He returns to his spot on the floor, placing one of the cushions under his stomach. He keeps mumbling under his breath while reading, commenting on annoying characters and pointless scenes. Jisung doesn’t mind at all; he likes the white background noise when he’s chilling, and if it’s Jeongin next to him, he likes it even more. 

“Aha,” Jeongim lets out; it’s a little louder than his previous comments and draws Jisung’s attention. Propping up on his elbow, Jeongin carries on, “I was supposed to ask… do you know if something’s happened between Hyunjin and Seungmin?”

Jisung blinks. He clears his throat, chalking up his expression with something neutral; anything to mask the surprise. 

“Uhm—no? I don’t think so, at least. Why are you asking?” 

Jeongin bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “I mean—It’s probably nothing, but last night we were talking about some bullshit ‘cause Hyuni couldn’t fall asleep and then he said that he needed a hug—that it would help him sleep,” he rolls his eyes, “and when he turned to Seungmin… Well, Seungmin literally jumped out of the bed. He said he had to go to the bathroom but he didn’t come back later.”

Jisung takes in a sharp breath. He isn’t going to meddle—he doesn’t want to meddle. And, though the situation might seem trivial, he’s sure that if it goes on like this it can turn into an issue more serious. 

“He slept in our room, that’s what I can tell you, but—” Jisung sighs. “I don’t know, Innie. I haven’t noticed anything strange about them.” Forcing a more playful tone, he adds, “And, besides, you know how clingy Hyunjin can get. If Seungmin stayed, he’d probably get cuddled to death.”

Jeongin shakes his head with a smile. His shoulders seem more relaxed so Jisung lets himself dive right back into his reading. Yet, he couldn’t get the question out of his head long, long after.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Jeongin joins the guys again as they go to the slope in the morning. Jisung is actually surprised that they still have the strength to ski and snowboard, but, as Jeongin told him, they’ll pay for it with a cold when Jisung is fit as a fiddle.

But when he leaves the bedroom on Friday morning, disheveled hair and still in pajamas, Seungmin and Felix are standing on the balcony, chatting, leaning against the railing. They must have stayed behind this time. Jisung greets them, but after standing outside for a second, he feels cold. Felix chuckles and grabs his hand, leading him back inside.

They go downstairs to have breakfast together, but Jisung only feels like drinking tea. He needs warmth—it seems to have left him as soon as he got out of bed. He wants to get back underneath the soft duvet; waking up early isn’t all that pleasant, no matter how much his friends say so, and no matter how much Jisung wants to enjoy the (almost) last day of the trip. 

“Have you been outside at all?” Felix asks him, tilting his head to the side. A hint of amusement makes its way to his face, as if he already knows the answer. Jisung munches on his toast before answering with a crooked smile. “You can’t refuse, then! Behind the resort there’s something like a park, like—a path up the hill. We don’t have to go up high, but we  _ are _ going out. Seungmin will take his camera!”

And how can Jisung say no if Felix’s smile is so bright, if he lights up the room like the spring sun?

So, despite the biting cold, Jisung is walking through the snow-covered park next to Felix, with Seungmin trailing a little behind them, too involved in taking pictures. Jisung is wrapped in a scarf to the point that only his eyes are visible; he’s wearing gloves and his hands are neatly tucked into the pockets of his thick jacket, and yet he still feels as if the frost has settled permanently in his bones.

But he has to admit it’s a nice early afternoon; the winter sun is shining with blinding rays, the snow is squeaking under their boots, and there’s something magical about a park covered with snow.

Seungmin keeps stopping them over and over to take pictures against the winter landscape. Eventually, he joins them in their walk and slips between them to lock his arms with them both. Jisung smiles under his breath.

This trip has really helped him relax. It’s been a long time since he could do just nothing, overwhelmed with studies and responsibilities, but Jisung has finally found a perfect chance to ease—and he feels good about it. Maybe he should leave home, go out and travel more often.

Even if he ended up spending entire trips in a hotel room, he would still be somewhere other than in an empty house. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

On Friday evening, the actual last day of the trip, anyone who feels like it can spend time in the basement reserved for their school. Pool tables, table football, bowling, squash, table tennis; whatever you can dream of. 

Jisung is sitting on the pouf, watching his friends play pool. After his own defeat, he pouted and crossed arms over his chest, claiming his friends were cheating, then he dramatically flopped on the pouf and hasn’t stood up since then. He just keeps throwing biting remarks, humorously making fun of his friends’ skills.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jisung sees movement at the door. He turns his head that way and, with all of him, holds himself back from rolling his eyes when he realizes who it is. The glass door swings open, drawing the attention of the others. They immediately invite the newcomers—Minho, Chan and Changbin—to the game; and Jisung doesn’t really mind but, somehow, irritation begins bubbling in his stomach. 

He glances at Minho and frowns as he finds him already staring. Jisung can’t really read his expression, but he doesn’t even have the time to—Hyunjin immediately pushes a billiard cue into Minho’s hand, himself plopping down on the pouf next to Jisung.

And it all makes Jisung wonder when those two groups of friends have gotten close enough to spend so much time together; now, when they’re playing games, and on the slope, while they were skiing. Did Jisung miss something?

Of course, Hyunjin and Changbin are dating now, and Felix and Chan have known each other before, but it’s not like someone has said, “Hey, it will be super cool if we all become friends!” before. It’s just sudden. 

And not super cool. 

Jisung feels uneasy with Minho; since the night they kissed, when he beat that boy in front of Jisung, and it only got worse with the New Year’s Eve party. There’s a tension between them that he can’t name but  _ needs _ to get rid of.

He shakes his head, like it’s going to help him get rid of those intrusive thoughts. With a sigh, Jisung gets up from the pouf and just says, “I’ll go get some fresh air,” before leaving, without even looking back or waiting for any reaction.

“Get a jacket—!” Felix shouts after him, and Jisung is sure he says something else but the door closes and his words get muffled. 

Jisung knows Felix is right—reluctantly and despite his exhaustion, he starts up the wooden stairs. He grabs the pink blanket from their bed and slips into a jacket. If he was to sit in the basement later, he might have at least something to cover himself with.

From the lounge, Jisung walks through the glass doors onto the terrace, where he perches on wooden steps leading to the grassy yard. He breathes the crisp winter air and tilts his head back, feeling a strange sense of relief washing over him. 

The moon is shining high in the sky, bathing the surroundings in a magical haze. Clouds stretch out beside it—a clear sign they’re about to enfold it. Stars are twinkling, breaking through them; thousands, millions of them.

Jisung feels like the time’s still. Only gusts of wind disturb the perfect silence of the mountains, and Jisung is staring up at the sky with wide eyes, drawing in handfuls and handfuls of the view. Here, away from the city and pollution, everything seems more serene, more harmonious. 

Jisung fixes the blanket, pulling it tighter around himself. Despite both the blanket and the jacket, he’s still shivering from the cold, but he doesn’t want to go back inside just yet. He sways from side to side instead, a gentle smile wandering across his lips. A song is playing in Jisung’s head; it’s from one of Seungmin’s playlists, the one he listens to when he’s studying, the RnB track Jisung just can’t ever remember the title of.

The door to the terrace opens and Jisung almost misses it; he’s too focused on the delicate song looped in his head. Almost. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who is walking towards him.

Jisung is struck by a strange sense of familiarity. It takes his breath away. His hands begin to tremble, but he can’t even admit to himself that it’s due to anything other than the cold.

Minho sits down beside him. Jisung isn’t brave enough to look up at him but, out of the corner of his eye, sees Minho follow in his footsteps, staring up at the night sky. 

Jisung has seen it before. Minho following him outside. Minho keeping him company through cold evenings. Minho acting differently under the spell of the night. He can’t pinpoint what it all means but he’s not even trying to. Jisung feels like this conclusion he won’t be able to accept. 

“I’m sorry,” Minho ends up saying. Jisung knits his eyebrows, not quite sure what he means. “For snapping at you. Back then, in the library. When—when we were supposed to do the project.”

Oh. 

Jisung remembers Minho has already mentioned it. He has already apologized. But that day, Jisung wasn’t in his right mind; the mere thought of this situation makes him flush in embarrassment. If Minho is apologizing again, Jisung is free to wipe it out of his mind.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, maybe. But the last time I tried to apologize it didn’t… work out, so…”

Jisung hides his face in his hands. He waits for Minho to burst out laughing; to make fun of him and of how frail he is; of how easy it is to play him if you know his weaknesses. 

But Minho doesn’t laugh.

“And for that… I’m sorry for that, too,” he adds instead. Jisung lifts his head up, locking eyes with Minho for the first time this evening. Maybe he is bad at reading people but Minho seems sincere. And Jisung can’t tear his gaze away. “You said I was playing with you but—I don’t know. I don’t mean to make your life miserable, seriously. It’s just—”

“Happens?”

The corner of Jisung’s lips curl up. Minho opens his mouth like he’s about to object, as if he wants to correct him or say something else. He snaps it close so quickly, though, that Jisung doesn’t get a moment to dwell on it or even consider it something significant.

“And I wouldn’t exactly say you make my life miserable.” Minho’s eyebrows shoot up, but Jisung nods to confirm this is exactly what he means. “Yeah, at least not most of the time.” 

When Minho nudges his shoulder, Jisung can’t hold back the amused giggle; it slips past his lips, out into the open and echoes through the grounds of the resort. Minho is shaking his head but Jisung sees the smile tugging at his lips. He isn’t as discreet and elusive as he thinks. 

Silence falls over them and it’s not uncomfortable, not at all, but Jisung still feels the need to break it. 

“Um—It might sound mean but… what are you actually doing here? I mean, here as in on this trip. On the bus you said you didn’t want to go, and—well—everyone says you’re banned from school trips.”

Minho doesn’t immediately respond and Jisung feels like cmacking himself in the face for asking such a stupid question. He really is nosy and should learn how to mind his own damn business. 

He glances at Minho but the only thing he can make out in the shadows is that damned empty mask. 

“And who do you think is the anonymous donor?” he spits out eventually, voice laced with bitterness. Taking a deep breath, he seems to hesitate, before carrying on, “My father—my father has this picture perfect vision of me that looks just like him when he was young. And when I do something he wouldn’t… this is what happens.” 

Jisung doesn’t know how to respond. It’s vague, but at the same time honest and he hasn’t expected an answer; even more Minho confiding in him with his problems.

“Is this why you’re doing it all?” 

_ It all _ as in seeking attention. This is exactly how Jisung views it. And once again he’s witnessing a story of a rich kid, whose life could be perfect if it wasn’t for their parents. 

It’s strange how similar they are, really. Though Jisung can be grateful to his parents for the fact that they’re forcing little on him. He knows there is a job in the company waiting for him and the studies they have already chosen the day he was born, but otherwise, Jisung can practically do as he pleases. 

“I mean—he’s manipulative. If he can’t control something, he’ll lose his mind, so… there’s not really much more to do. And I actually like getting on his nerves.” Minho offers a crooked smile, but he’s still looking at the ground. “But, you know, despite everything, I’ve been trying to be a better person lately.” 

“I can only imagine how exhausting a change like this must be,” Jisung sneers, trying to lighten up Minho’s mood with his stupid remark.

It must work because he snorts a laugh and one corner of his lips remains curled up. And it’s quite embarrassing how his laughter elicits something in Jisung; a pleasant tug in his stomach, a swarm of thoughts swirling in his mind. 

After a moment of silence, when Minho’s laughter dies down and Jisung gets rid of his own grin, he says, “I’m really so—”

“Don’t say it,” Minho cuts in; despite the stern tone, his face melts into something softer. “It’s not your fault and it’s not like it’s going to change anything, huh? It’s just—It’s nice that you’ve listened, even though you don’t care.” 

Jisung wants to deny. His heart wants to deny. Yet, he only presses his lips together and doesn’t speak up. Lifting his hand from under the blanket, Jisung pat Minho’s cold knee, immediately feeling a rush of embarrassment. 

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up; he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement. (Jisung doesn’t know that Minho wants to grab his hand, that he wants to keep it on his knee and keep Jisung close, but when he sees that Jisung isn’t wearing gloves, Minho lets him scoot under the pink blanket.) 

Jisung clears his throat. If Minho doesn’t want his sincere sympathy, he wants to at least express it with a gesture. This—He hasn’t forbidden him that. 

With his head stubbornly turned to the other side, Jisung doesn’t see the delicate smile that lingers on Minho’s lips, and the way his knee—right where Jisung’s hand rested—burns, warming up his whole body despite the low temperature. 

They part a long time later, when the chill becomes too bothersome, and they both realize that a long time sitting on the cold wooden steps might end up with them losing icy limbs. They don’t go back to the basement or join the others in their games. Instead, they head upstairs, both agreeing that what they need is to dive into a soft duvet.

As Jisung watches Minho disappear behind the door of his bedroom, he realizes he hasn’t apologized for all those times  _ he _ snapped at Minho. He swallows around the uncomfortable lump in his throat but it doesn’t disappear. 

Jisung can’t get a word out.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

They return to Seoul by Saturday afternoon, and Jisung isn’t even pretending he’s planning to do anything other than sleep. The long bus ride has exhausted him, and spending the night outside has made the cold settle in his body. Jisung would rather take antipyretics and get some sleep now than to lie sick in bed for a week or more.

After that, Jisung only feels better—unlike the rest of his friends who don’t stop complaining about muscle and bone pains in their group chat. Jisung remembers Jeongin;s words and tags him in the conversation, asking how he feels.

**JEONGIN:** lovely ^3^

**JEONGIN:** unlike some 

**JEONGIN:** you should’ve followed my example <3

He sends a selfie with a smug smile; Jeongin’s leaning against a shopping cart, and behind him Jisung sees his little brother reaching for something on a high shelf. Immediately, messages full of mock anger spill over the chat.

Jisung remembers their group video call to relax before the biology project he and Minho have to present. He’s already sitting in class even though the break has just started. Minho isn’t there yet; and—although he shouldn’t have expected it—Jisung has hoped Minho would show up sooner. If they rehearsed what they were supposed to say beforehand, Jisung would feel much more confident.

In fact, Jisung is still afraid that Minho is planning to stand him up. Even though his mind keeps telling him that Minho isn’t in fact that terrible, he can’t get rid of that one persistent thought that makes his body tense up with panic.

Jisung snaps his head to the door with a swish when he hears it open. His expression eases when Minho steps inside but he’s too nervous to actually smile. 

Minho reaches for the pocket of his jacket and, as he comes closer to the desk Jisung is leaning against, he hands Jisung a chocolate candy bar.

“Thought you could use some energy.”

Jisung eyes him with hesitance and says, “I’m not sure if I can eat anything now.”

Minho raises his eyebrow, and—apparently not keen on giving up—breaks the bar in two, taking one piece for himself. “I’ll only take no as an answer if you’re allergic to chocolate.”

Jisung’s lips twist in a crooked smile but the nervousness doesn’t let him laugh. 

The chocolate bar may not relieve him of his stress or make him stop thinking about the piercing eyes of the other students, but Jisung almost breathes a sigh of relief as he takes the first bite.

Minho is sitting leaning against the desk next to him; not close enough to make things awkward, but close enough that Jisung nudges Minho with his elbow when he’s taking a bite of the candy. 

Jisung almost spits it out on the floor when the bell rings. He sends Minho a panicked look; seeing him stand there all stoic and dandy makes Jisung even more nervous. 

“It’s okay, Hannie,” Minho says then, meeting his eyes and hesitantly resting his palm on Jisung’s thigh. 

Jisung’s breath catches in his throat as his gaze falls down, lingering too long on Minho’s hand. The bewilderment has the older boy retreating and muttering hushed apologies. Jisung’s mind is hazed and messy—that’s definitely why he doesn’t mind the sparks that Minho’s touch has elicited. 

He barely registers Mrs Kang stepping into the classroom. Minho was supposed to send her a message that they’ll be presenting their project yesterday and, by the friendly smile she offers them, Jisung assumes he took care of this responsibility. Okay, maybe that eases Jisung’s nerves a little. Afterall, they’re in this together.

“You two are ready, right?” Mrs Kang asks, sitting in the back of the classroom. Jisung forces himself to nod in response. 

Usually, he isn’t (that) stressed about projects and presentations but with Minho beside him, a lump forms in Jisung’s throat. He coughs and swallows, trying to get rid of the weird feeling of dryness. Minho eyes him with attentiveness, as if making sure everything’s fine. It doesn’t help—Jisung doesn’t want to mess up. 

Minho smiles under his breath as he takes Jisung’s frog-shaped USB flash drive and plugs it into the laptop. Jisung knows it’s a cute green little thing that no one could hate but he still hopes Minho doesn’t find it childish. 

While Minho is turning on and displaying their slides presentation, Jisung takes a sip (or ten) of water from his bottle. Minho sends him a quizzical look when he’s finished so Jisung nods, signaling he’s ready. 

Jisung turns to face the rest of the class and begins speaking, and doesn’t remember much after that.

He stutters a lot, loses his train of thoughts when his gaze meets one of the other students’. He tries not to look at them, his eyes wandering along the wall, once or twice just turning towards the displayed slides.

But whenever he’s stuck for too long for a moment, Minho steps in; he pretends that Jisung is making a deliberate pause so Minho can throw an unfunny anecdote about the photo or the place they’re talking about at that moment. Without a fuss, but with slight hesitancy he finishes Jisung’s broken sentences, as if he’s learnt not only his part but Jisung’s too. 

Jisung feels confident after a few more slides and ends the presentation without any further mistakes, not missing Minho’s satisfied face. His eyes are warm, the smile slight but huge in Jisung’s mind—as if he’s saying, “You’re doing fine.” Somehow, it’s enough to keep Jisung stable. 

Mrs Kang is content to give them good grades, praising their in-depth descriptions and interesting photos. Jisung never expected applause from his classmates, but considers no one falling asleep a success.

Jisung looks over his shoulder, looks at the last slide still displayed on the wall, at the picture of their faces almost squished together, and takes a deep breath. His eyes meet Minho’s; Jisung smiles at him—much wider than usual—and walks over to the desk to help him stow the equipment. It’s not that Minho needs his help, but Jisung has nothing to do with himself and rewinding the cables will definitely help him calm his wandering thoughts. 

“I’ll get you a coffee, Min-ah!” he suddenly hears.

It’s only when Jisung turns to the entrance that he notices Momo leaning against the doorframe. She disappears before he gets to take a better look but leaves an unpleasant, stinging feeling in Jisung’s stomach.

He exhales and leans back against the desk. As Minho hands him his flash drive, their fingers touch. It’s barely a brush but makes Jisung almost drop the pendrive to the floor. Minho has the audacity to chuckle. 

“You did well,” he says after a moment of silence. 

Jisung’s eyebrow shoots up, doubtful. “Could’ve done better.” 

Minho shakes his head. His gaze seems close to scolding for a mere second before softening. “It’s all your work. You’ve planned this project and made it interesting. You did well. And… and your voice was hypnotizing. Everyone was listening and—” Minho trails off, offering him a crooked smile. “It worked out just because of you.”

Jisung’s heart beats harder, painfully and dangerously hammers in his chest and he can’t find a logical explanation  _ why _ ; after all, their presentation is over now—he has nothing to stress about; there is nothing that could make his pulse skyrocket like this. 

“You too—You deserve to hear nice things, too,” he spits out eventually. Minho tilts his head to the side, clearly content, and puts on a smug smile. Jisung holds back the eyeroll. “If it wasn’t for you helping me, I would have gotten stuck and stood there like a statue and—I don’t know. I don’t know if I could’ve done it without you.” 

Minho’s piercing eyes are stubbornly fixed on Jisung but he, too, seems surprised by the words that just came out of his mouth. He blinks, and then says, “Hold on—Can you wait a moment so I can turn on the recorder? These are the nicest words I’ve ever heard from you—I think I need to keep them. You know, like a souvenir. Or, rather, a sweet reminder that you do care about me.”

Jisung snarls, ignoring the last part, but when Minho bursts out laughing, he can’t hold back anymore. He hangs his head, biting down on his lower lip while Minho is giggling at the top of his lungs, as if he’s just made the joke of the year.

“Well, now you aren’t hearing anything nice from me ever again,” Jisung tells him, when the bell ringing ends Minho’s foolery. He slings his bag over his shoulder and shifts, hesitant.

Minho doesn’t look like he’s in a rush to classes. Instead, he leans to the side with his palm against the desk, staring at Jisung with a sly, yet gentle smile like it’s his favorite thing to do.

Jisung clears his throat. Reading Minho is impossible to him but at that very moment it’s what Jisung wants; to peek into his thoughts, for Minho to uncover his mind. It’s a strange thing to want to know someone as they are. And Jisung has never really wanted to truly  _ see _ Minho. And yet. 

“Well,” he ends up saying, when the chatter behind the closed door quietens. “I admit I wasn’t too convinced of our… cooperation, but… I think it went well.”

“We make a great pair, don’t we?” 

“Don’t push your luck,” Jisung threatens but there’s no bite to it. 

Without turning his back to Minho, he walks backwards towards the door, belaying himself with his hands to prevent bumping into the desks. Minho, however, looks like he’s only waiting for Jisung to trip. 

No way. 

Jisung eventually turns around. Before stepping out of the class and leaving Minho alone, though, Jisung sends him one last smile over his shoulder. 

He feels weird—different. His whole body emanates warmth, although before his biology class, Jisung was shivering because of the cold weather. He strolls through the empty hallways; any other day he’d be running to get to class on time, not wanting to be late but this time he doesn’t want to rush. 

The presentation is already over, so Jisung doesn’t have any reasons to stress. They did very well and got high grades; it’s all that matters and Jisung is happy. Working with Minho was nice, actually, and Jisung might not agree with his words out loud, but they do make a good pair. 

(And if he can’t stop thinking about how different Minho is towards him, it’s only his business, no one else’s.)

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

It’s midnight, the end of January fast approaching and Jisung is halfway through an extensive maths problem set when something hits his window. He lifts his head up from his notebook but it’s silent. He shrugs it off, now sure that it’s only the wind and goes back to his homework, trying to focus again. 

But then it happens again. And again, and again, and again. 

Jisung gets up from his chair, hesitantly coming closer to the window. Just one glance to the lit up garden is enough to realize what’s making the noise. Yet, Jisung almost chokes on his spit when he sees Lee Minho, stubbornly throwing pebbles at his window like a goddamn lead straight out of a rom-com. 

“What the fuck,” Jisung whispers to himself. 

Minho swings, probably to throw another pebble at the windowpane, but his hand stills in the air as he realizes Jisung is standing on the other side, finally having noticed his advances. Sending a crooked smile his way, Minho leans back and stumbles on the icy stone slabs. Somehow, he manages to regain his balance and Jisung lets out a sigh of relief. If he fell down and hit his head, Jisung might have had a dead body in his backyard; and, known for his hatred for Minho, he wouldn’t even be able to defend himself against murder allegations.

Jisung doesn’t know what to do. 

But he doesn’t have much time to think; he rushes out of his room and down the stairs, then swings the patio door open, immediately feeling the piercing chill send shivers down his spine. Minho turns towards him, quite glad Jisung hasn’t left him and gone back to what he’s been doing. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jisung asks through gritted teeth, wrapping arms around himself. Minho grimaces, coming closer, and Jisung already knows he isn’t getting an answer anytime soon. He sighs and—even if the one thing he wants is to lie in bed and forget about the rest of the world—adds, “Come inside. I’m not staying here in his cold.”

Minho nods as he follows Jisung home. Jisung slams the door with a little too much force, making sure it’s closed and rests his hands on his hips. Minho decides to ignore his questioning gaze.

“You’ve got something to drink?”

“Water?” 

Minho’s eyebrow shoots up and he snorts a bitter laugh. “Vodka.” 

“Come on,” Jisung draws out, a little more gentle. “You’re already… vexed.”

“That’s why I wanna drink.” 

That’s why you shouldn’t drink, Jisung wants to tell him but it’s not his business. He also wants to kick Minho in the face. A lot. Instead of fulfilling his deepest fantasies, though, Jisung grabs Minho’s forearm to drag him up the stairs. Maybe it’s for the better that he wants to get drunk—maybe he’ll stay quiet and Jisung will be able to finish his homework.

He leads Minho to his room and makes him sit on the chair, saying that he’ll be back in a second. Minho doesn’t seem to be listening or paying the slightest amount of attention; he’s too busy looking around Jisung’s room.

Jisung sighs and leaves him alone, just hoping Minho won’t mess anything up while he’s gone. He makes his way to his mother’s study, where he knows he will find a considerable supply of alcohol.

She probably won’t notice anything missing (she’d have to be home first), Jisung thinks as he crouches down next to the cabinet to take a better look. 

Minho wants vodka but the truth is, Jisung’s parents rarely drink it; if it’s actually somewhere in the house, it’s either downstairs or in the basement, and that’s where Jisung doesn’t want to go, even for Minho. 

Eventually, Jisung grabs a corkscrew and a bottle of blackberry wine that’s probably worth more than his entire life, hoping Minho will be satisfied, and slams the office door on his way out. 

Minho seems sleepy when Jisung returns to his room. He looks up at him (or at the bottle in his hands, Jisung isn’t sure) with sparkling eyes and asks, “How did you know Arbor Mist is my favorite?”

Jisung didn’t, but Minho isn’t expecting an answer. He grabs the bottle and puts it in between his thighs so it’s more comfortable to get the cork out. Jisung watches him with his mouth hanging open, hoping and praying Minho won’t spill anything on the floor or the carpet; he’d strangle him with his bare hands if he did. 

Minho manages to open it just well, though, and he takes the cork out from the bottle with a pop. “It would’ve been quicker with a lighter,” he mumbles. Reaching to Jisung with the bottle, he throws him a quizzical look but Jisung only shakes his head. “Whatever.”

Wasting no time, Minho puts the bottle to his lips and takes a swig. Jisung watches as he pulls away, only to drink more immediately after catching his breath. 

“Hey, take it easy,” Jisung whispers with one corner of his lips curling up with a hint of a worried smile. 

Minho wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He points a finger at the paper sheets and books scattered around Jisung’s desk and asks, “Were you studying?” 

“Mhm. Finishing up my homework.” 

Minho hums in response. “Sorry for interrupting, then. Can I sit on your bed? You’ll finish—You’ll be able to finish it.”

Jisung considers it for a moment, also taking into account the fact that Minho is already imposing, coming over at one in the morning just to empty his parents’ alcohol supply; lying in Jisung’s bed is another thing. But it’s not like he’s got any other idea about what to do with Minho when he’s already buzzed, so Jisung nods. 

Minho—kindly—takes off his trainers before crawling into his bed before Jisung even gets to tell him to do that. He leans against the headboard, grabs one of the pillows and hugs it to his chest, chugging the wine down.

Jisung sighs. He turns to face the desk and finds the problem Minho has interrupted him solving. It takes him a moment to think back to the track he was thrown off, but when he does, he quickly deals with the rest of the problems. The next exercise is a little more complicated, but Minho is silent as a church mouse, and when Jisung finally finishes his homework, he stretches, takes a deep breath and suddenly remembers that Minho is still there.

Jisung spins on his chair to face him and instantly notices how Minho is stubbornly staring right at him. He blinks, trying to get rid of both this image, of Minho’s gentle expression and even gentler eyes, and the exhaustion. 

“You’ll be more comfy here,” Minho mumbles, patting the space on the bed beside himself. 

Jisung knows it’s the start of another dangerous game. He is definitely aware of it. He’s  _ too _ aware. But even so, he gets up from his chair, hearing the bones in his back crack, and starts toward the bed. He sits down and leans against the headboard with shallow satisfaction, hoping that the floral scent of the freshly washed sheets will comfort him nicely like it always does.

All he can smell is a striking citrus scent. It attacks not only his senses; Jisung refuses to admit how quickly it awakens his deeply hidden memories.

“These stars…” Minho purrs; the somnolence laced with alcohol seems to be messing up his tongue. “They’re so adorable, Hannie. So fucking adorable.” 

Jisung looks at him out of the corner of his eye. With a wandering smile and a blissful expression on his face, Minho looks like he’s in paradise. He’s staring at the ceiling intently, at the glowing stars glued to it as if it’s his favorite thing to do. 

But Jisung can’t beat around the bush anymore. Minho can refuse to answer but Jisung will explode if he doesn’t ask. 

“Why are you here?” 

Minho looks to the side. He stares at Jisung with glittering eyes and doesn’t say anything for a moment. Jisung begins to think that this is it. That he shouldn’t have asked, that it’s none of his business, that Minho will get angry with him and they won’t talk again, because they’re both stubborn and act like children, no matter how much Jisung doesn’t want to admit it.

But then Minho takes a deep breath. 

“My parents—” he scoffs, and even to Jisung this word sounds strange—bitter. “Without any heads up, no message, they’ve come back home to take my brother on a trip to Milan. It wouldn’t be anything bad but I just know—I know they did it on purpose.”

Jisung remains silent. He lets Minho take another sip of wine and carry on. 

“I had my details taken by the police on Friday,” he spits out bitterly. “My father was losing his mind. I wasn’t picking up the phone so he sent me something close to a thousand messages. And now I came back home and the only thing I found was a sticky note on the fridge.” 

Minho starts rummaging in his pants pocket, taking out a small, crumpled piece of paper. Jisung takes and unfolds it with hesitancy. Two sentences are scrawled in a crooked childish handwriting: “Mini!!! I’m going on a trip to Milano with mama!!! Will miss you!!!” There’s a name at the bottom—Kyungmin—and a smiling face right next to it. Jisung feels as if he’s crashing into a private conversation that doesn’t involve him in any way.

“Everyone’s busy,” Minho carries on when Jisung hands him the note back. “And I didn’t wanna be alone. I like—I don’t mind being alone but… alone with someone. And an empty house is overwhelming.” Jisung can relate to that. Minho turns his head to the side and continues, “And you are…”

Jisung waits. 

He remembers that one time when Minho showed up at his doorstep, battered and bruised; when Jisung helped him on the street. Minho doesn’t say anything else, and Jisung feels compelled to finish his thought.

“Your personal nurse?” 

Minho scoffs. “You’re… Jisung. You’re you.” 

_ Ba-dump.  _

Jisung doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. Minho focuses on drawing the wine from the bottle again. Despite the deep words he has just uttered, it’s quite serene between them; the only noise to break the silence is the hum of Jisung’s laptop running on his desk, but neither of them feels awkward.

It’s sort of the opposite, even—Jisung has the impression that his eyes are closing on their own with how comfortable he’s feeling. It’s already late and he’s spent the last hours doing his homework (and being with Minho); Jisung is tired. He has no idea how Minho is going to go to school tomorrow morning. He’s sure that after drinking so much wine, his head would throb and feel like it’s cracking. 

Jisung heaves a sigh, glancing to the side. He isn’t sure at what point he agreed to let Minho stay overnight and sleep in his bed, but he looks too calm pressed against Jisung’s pillow for him to wake him up. Minho doesn’t want to be alone in an empty house. Jisung understands that well.

It’s why he lets him stay. 

Since Minho is occupying his bed, Jisung has no choice but to go to sleep in the guest room. He gets up from the bed, trying not to make any noise, but before he can leave, cold fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him in mid-step.

“Don’t leave me,” Minho mumbles, voice sleepy. His words grab Jisung by the throat, pain him, take away the ability to breathe. Jisung swallows. 

Alright, he thinks, I won’t leave you. 

Jisung kneels on the bed, just to shift and properly lie down next to Minho this time. He gently removes Minho’s fingers from around his wrist and moves to the far end of the mattress. His heart speeds up, crashing against his ribcage. It sounds so loud that Jisung grows afraid Minho will hear it.

They’re both lying on the quilt, but Jisung feels the warmth growing and overwhelming, anyway; if he slips under the duvet, he’ll explode.

Minho, on the other hand, is lying slightly curled up; Jisung still feels the grip of Minho’s cold fingers on his wrist and immediately thinks that he must be cold. He hopes the wine will work in its little mysterious way, that it will warm Minho up a little. 

Jisung gets up, reaching to the foot of the bed where the rolled-up blanket lies. Unfolding it, he drapes it over Minho. He can’t let him freeze; not only in his home but in his own bed. 

Minho snuggles into the soft blanket, muttering sleepily under his breath. Jisung lets out a soft sigh. He turns on his side, staring at Minho’s calm expression; at his long lashes and flawless skin despite so many injuries that it’s suffered. Jisung clearly remembers touching it with his fingertips—not once, not twice. Every moment when he’s so close to Minho seems etched in his mind and nothing in the world can let him forget.

Jisung feels like everything is getting even more complicated. He doesn’t know what they’re heading for. The only thing he can see when he tries to imagine it all is fire. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Jisung awakens in the middle of the night. His heart pounds in his chest as he—fearfully—realizes that there are arms wrapped around his waist. His eyes widen, seeing the features of the person beside him in the darkness. He can’t tell whether he’s relieved or more terrified when he sees Minho’s face so close to his own, feeling his breath on his lips.

Jisung stifles all the feelings rushing through his body. He fixes the blanket slipping off Minho’s shoulders and squeezes his eyes shut, ignoring how—because of the movement—Minho pulls him even closer. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Opening his eyes the next morning, thinks that everything that has happened the previous night was just a dream. A strange, unexpected and disturbing dream.

Pulling himself up, he leans against the headboard and fixes the blanket sliding down his legs—No. Jisung never sleeps under a blanket alone. He never sleeps on one half of the bed.

In panic, he looks around the room and immediately realizes that nothing was a dream.

The almost empty wine bottle is still standing on his nightstand. The carpet remains rolled up where Minho clumsily took off his sneakers. The scent of citrus is lingering in the air. 

Jisung sweeps his hand over the wrinkled sheets on the left. Cold and empty.

What was he even expecting?

With a sigh, Jisung scrambles out of bed, not bothering to make it. He picks up his phone from the desk and leaves his room. The black T-shirt is slipping from his shoulder, exposing pale collarbones but Jisung doesn’t make an effort to fix it. He doesn’t have the strength or the mood to take care of his disheveled hair, either. Not now, at least. He needs a dose of energy before he can do anything.

Jisung rubs his face with his hand as he descends the stairs. He’s just so fucking tired; he has to hold on to the railing to keep from falling, because his legs tangle as if he’s just learning to walk. His eyes sting and he’s quite sure they’re red and disgusting. This is exactly how late schooling and babysitting a drunk… friend ends. 

Jisung hasn’t expected to ever see Minho wandering around his kitchen, but when he steps inside, it’s exactly what he comes across. He pauses in shock. Minho is here. Minho is still here. With his back turned to him, doing something at the counter, humming a radio tune under his breath.

Seeing him like this is weird. First thing in the morning, in his own kitchen, in his own house. Jisung can’t move.

Minho suddenly turns to face him and freezes, too, clearly startled. The humming stops as he stills mid-step. Jisung notices the spatula in his hand and feels even more confused than before.

“Oh, hello!” Minho mumbles, ineptly trying to shift Jisung’s attention away from his reddening cheeks. “I’m making breakfast. As a thank you for letting me stay the night.” Jisung still doesn’t move from where he’s standing in the doorway. “Um… sorry for robbing your fridge. Should’ve just ordered something. Are you even—When do your classes start?” 

Well, that’s a lot of information.

It takes Jisung a pitifully long time to turn on his phone screen to see that the first lesson has started quite some time ago. He clears his throat. “Well… half an hour ago.” 

Minho blinks with a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. “Do you mind being a little late?” he asks, pointing at the vegetable omelette lying on the plate. 

Yes, Jisung does mind. He hates being late; hell, he’s hardly ever late—only when there’s an emergency. 

And yet, finally moving forward, he says, “No, I don’t.”

Jisung walks over to the counter and sits down where Minho has put the plate—by the place Jisung usually occupies. Minho must have remembered where he sat on the night he treated his wounds.

Minho offers him a slight smile as he sits down across him. There’s no plate in front of him, just a cup of steaming tea.

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you eating anything?” 

“I rarely eat breakfast,” he waves a dismissive hand. 

“It’s unhealthy,” Jisung tells him, full of hypocrisy. If Minho didn’t prepare food for him, he would probably only drink coffee and call it breakfast. “I’ll eat if you take the other half.” 

Minho snorts, shaking his head as he takes a sip of his tea. Jisung doesn’t care about his refusal and is already cutting the omelette in two, moving the plate to the center of the counter. 

“I’m serious. Eat.”

Jisung hardens his gaze, trying to look firm. Minho only laughs at his serious expression and finally nods, taking the fork in his hand. He rolls the omelette into a clumsy roll and shoves it into his mouth. Jisung looks at him for a moment; too focused on the soft smile unfolding on his face to bother eating.

“Wow,” Minho lets out with a smug smile. “I’m a better cook than I originally thought.”

Jisung wants to make some biting remarks, but he can’t get a word out. This whole situation is _ different _ . He doesn’t know what else to call it. Minho sitting across from him on Monday morning, having breakfast that he prepared himself—it’s nothing that Jisung could have predicted. It’s strange, and exactly that—different. 

“By the way,” Minho shoots as Jisung is eating his half of the omelette. “This tea… you like it too, don’t you? The cupboard is… stocked.”

Yes. It’s definitely Jisung’s favorite tea flavour. He didn’t toss a bunch of boxes into the cart while he was shopping just because Minho liked it the last time he was over. No. Nope. 

“Do you need some painkillers?” he asks, changing the topic. He stands up, taking the cutlery and the plate and puts everything in the sink. He’ll take care of that after school.

“I’m fine.”

Jisung turns, resting hands on his hips. He fixes Minho with a doubtful stare, eyebrow quirking up; Minho only nods to confirm that he is  _ super _ fine.

“Seriously,” he adds. “There’s nothing like a  _ hangover _ in my dictionary.” 

Jisung huffs. He isn’t going to force him; if Minho claims that drinking a whole bottle of wine the night before has no effect on him then go ahead. 

“Want me to drive you home? Or give you something to change into?” Jisung asks, sweeping a gaze over Minho.

He shrugs. “No need to. But if you’re going to school, I’ll go with you.” 

Jisung nods and disappears into his room to change and take care of his morning routine (when he sees himself in the mirror, he almost passes out; he wonders how come Minho has made no comment on his morning appearance).

Freshly dressed up and perfumed, Jisung rushes back downstairs. Minho is waiting for him in the living room. It’s only when he gets closer that Jisung notices that Minho is looking at the family photos displayed above the fireplace. Old, very old photos taken when Jisung’s parents cared enough to be here.

He clears his throat to let Minho know he’s ready, and together they head outside. Jisung makes sure the house is locked while Minho climbs into the passenger seat of his car parked in the driveway.

Jisung hears the gate open before he sees the Lamborghini driving through. He turns, casting a panicked glance at Minho. It doesn’t surprise him when his mother nearly jumps out of the car as soon as it comes to a stop. Jisung senses the hurricane coming before anyone gets to announce the upcoming danger. 

His mother sizes Minho up. Full of disdain as much as grace, she strides towards the house where Jisung is standing, motionless. Her high heels click against the slabs of stone, sounding scarier than ever.

Jisung knows her too well—she’s his mother, afterall. He can perceive the fury behind her eyes, hidden so deeply, and yet clear to see when you pay attention. 

“We have to talk, Jisung,” she says sternly, but still keeping up the facade of calmness. Her eyes are fixed on him, only him, warning and rebuking, but Jisung can’t help feeling that if she had a second pair in the back of her head, she would have murdered Minho with her gaze long ago. 

“I’m going to be late to school,” he chokes out through a tight throat. Jisung is already late—he just wants to run from what she wants to talk about. He knows what she means. It’s not hard to figure out. 

Jisung doesn’t dare to look at Minho, but he can feel he’s watching; gaze burning, but more comfortable than his mother’s furious eyes. 

She doesn’t show that his refusal to talk right this moment, exactly when she wants him to, only makes her irritation grow. Walking past him, she keeps up the indifferent expression on her face and moves up the steps to the front door, only to disappear inside the house after fiddling with the lock for a while.

Jisung stands in the same spot for a long moment, taking deep breaths one by one. His heart pounds in his chest and blood rushes in his ears. It isn’t until he hears his father slam the trunk that Jisung returns to reality.

He rushes to his car, avoiding confrontation with his father. He slips into the driver’s seat and—only because Minho is right beside him—stops himself from banging his head against the steering wheel. 

“Do you need a moment?” Minho asks, voice only a little over a whisper. 

What Jisung needs is to escape. He needs peace, no worries and a solution to the goddamn mess in his head that somehow appears whenever Minho is around. 

“No. Everything is fine,” he chokes out. 

Jisung starts the engine; as soon as the radio sounds through the car, Jisung pushes the shutdown button with unnecessary force. If he has to listen to joyful songs, when all he wants to do is scream until he can’t anymore, he will definitely go crazy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Minho is trying to come up with something to say. He opens his mouth a few times, only to eventually shut it closed. Jisung doesn’t want him to speak. 

“Are you in trouble because I’ve stayed over for the night?” he ends up asking when the car stops at a red light. Jisung turns to the side to take a better look at him. 

Minho is puzzled; it’s the first time Jisung can see it with no mask, no pretending. He doesn’t know if Minho suddenly doesn’t want to bother him and cause inconveniences, but Jisung realizes it’s too late for that.

But it’s not Minho’s fault. It can’t possibly be his fault; no matter how much Jisung wants to push the blame and responsibility onto someone else.

“No,” he responds eventually, when the light changes to green.

Shifting his gaze back to the road, Jisung drives down the quiet streets of the city. Early in the morning, the roads shouldn’t be this empty. Jisung feels uneasy.

“If there’s something wrong, I could talk—”

“No,” Jisung cuts in. “Seriously… it could only make things worse.” 

He smiles crookedly, but doesn’t dare to even steal a glance at Minho; he doesn’t want to know what’s running through his mind. 

They reach the school in silence. Minho thanks Jisung again for letting him stay the night as the car pulls into the parking lot.

“And sorry for imposing,” he adds when they reach the main hallway of the building.

Jisung, doubtfully, raises one eyebrow. “I don’t let anyone ‘impose’, so if you were at my house, you were welcome there.” 

Minho doesn’t answer. He opens his mouth, then closes it (Jisung notices it must be a habit, but it’s annoying how he keeps holding back from saying things) and presses it into a thin line. He heaves a sigh and mumbles a “see you later” before turning and disappearing around the corner, giving Jisung no chance to answer. 

He glances at his watch. Seeing that the second period is due to end in a few minutes, he doesn’t even bother showing up. Instead, Jisung trots over to his locker, taking out his history textbook, and heads towards the classroom, deciding that the best option would be to wait there.

Alone in silence, he can’t help but think back and go through the past several hours. Everything that happened was strange; beginning from the Minho showing up in his backyard, through arms draped over each other and breakfast in the morning. 

Jisung has no idea what to make of it all—his mind is too biased to make more sense out of the situation. Maybe it’s best just to forget—to pretend none of this happened, that all he was doing the night before was drowning in homework. 

Jisung can tell his friends that, can tell everyone around him the same thing, can convince even himself, but he knows he can’t fool his parents. They might not know the whole truth, but the mere fact that Minho was in their house, that they saw it with their own eyes, seems like a nail in the coffin. 

That’s why the conversation waiting for him at home is weighing on his heart and mind. It circles over his head, not letting him focus on anything, and constantly distracts him—to stay in the center of his thoughts, to keep his head occupied and distress him and leave senseless.

Jisung doesn’t want to go home.

When he finishes his classes for the day, he still doesn’t feel prepared; he drives in circles in the school parking lot, car dead silent because even music becomes annoying. He has no choice but to leave and drive home when even the teachers start to leave the building. Through a roundabout way, of course. 

His father’s Lamborghini is still in the driveway, as he has left it in the morning. So there is no chance that they have gone to their friends’ or are out in the city. Jisung’s mother is probably waiting for him, drowning in papers, up to her ears with work, but still hunting him like a vulture.

Jisung stays in the car a moment longer than he normally would, enjoying the last pleasant moment of the day. He knows this evening isn’t destined to end well. Finally getting out and making his way toward the house, he opens the door as quietly as he can. Jisung takes off his jacket and boots, leaving them in the hallway. He might be walking on a cool marble floor wearing only socks, but it’s only his mother’s voice coming from the living room that makes his blood run cold.

“You’re finally home, Jisung!” she calls. 

Dragging it out is pointless—he can’t keep doing that anymore. He heads toward the living room, pausing at the entrance. She’s sitting on the sofa with a magazine in hand; Jisung’s father is reading something on his tablet beside her. At the sight of Jisung, he takes his glasses off his nose and sets them down on the glass coffee table.

“Let’s talk,” his mother carries on in a firm, cool tone.

Jisung doesn’t dare to oppose her; he obediently takes the seat on the sofa opposite them and straightens up, so that she has no complaints about his posture.

“You know it well that we never had anything against your preferences,” his father begins, and it feels like they have had a script prepared for this occasion, flawlessly memorized. 

From the very first sentence, Jisung wants to shrink in himself and pretend he doesn’t exist at all. In fact, he’s never existed for them. Why are they pretending that he does now?

“I don’t understand why you’re letting this… weasel manipulate you. You’re such a good boy, Jisung. But you’re still—you’re still a kid,” his mother adds. 

Jisung clenches his jaw in annoyance. Of course he’s just a child; when they want it, when it suits them, he’s a tiny baby, but a second later when they change their mind, he’s supposed to be mature, responsible, a goddamn businessman.

“I don’t know what lies he’s been feeding you, but you should know that someone like him isn’t capable of commitment. He’s playing with everyone—playing until he doesn’t find a toy better, newer, one that suits everything he finds pretty at the moment.” 

His mother puts the newspaper down on the table, unperturbed by the way Jisung’s hands tremble, though she doesn’t take her piercing gaze away from him. She can’t  _ not _ notice. 

“You’re worth more than that, Jisungie,” she says in a softer tone—the one she uses to play with his feelings, to use the fact that she’s his mother. 

Jisung feels sick; a lump forms in his throat, suffocating and unpleasant, and a bitter aftertaste appears on his tongue, as if her words are something she’s pushing into his mouth by force, so he could taste their tartness, so he’s  _ forced _ to taste it.

“How many times has he snapped at you? How many times has he ruined things? How many times has he lied to you, troubled you, made fun of you?” she lists, as if she’s been watching their every step. She sounds like a madman. “You deserve someone who’ll make you feel the way you deserve to feel—like a prince, a king. Don’t descend yourself to the level of such… I have no words, Jisung.” 

His mother lets out a heavy sigh, taking on the role that his father is supposed to play in this theatrical performance of concerned parents.

“Maybe you can’t see it now because he’s so wonderful, so kind and lovely. He likes you so much, doesn’t he, Jisungie? But it won’t last forever. He will hurt you, sooner or later. He will use you and leave you,” she spits out, and maybe if Jisung was in his right mind, he’d wonder how she is not losing her breath yet. “Ask around how many times he has done this before.”

Jisung’s throat going dry stops him from screaming out that Minho isn’t like that. Minho isn't as bad as his mother thinks him to be. The longer Jisung knows him, actually, the more he begins to think that no one who speaks so much shit about Minho really knows anything about him.

Minho isn’t a bad person. But throughout this short period of time, Jisung has gotten to know him a little. And Minho—even though far from evil—is used to destroying everything that doesn’t go his way. Jisung just doesn’t want to be a victim of that. 

Because Minho can be caring now, can make his heart tremble and mess with his head, but this won’t work in the long run. 

“You know we want what’s best for you. We want you to understand that a relationship with someone like him will only bring you down. And you have to stay on the surface—rise to the top. Leave everything that’s weighing you down behind.” 

All of this comes out of one simple mistake—his parents have assumed there’s something romantic going on between them. This thought has never crossed his mind with such force. 

But then, at that moment, if Jisung feels anything, he stifles it within himself. He pushes it aside. He locks it in a chest, and throws the key into the rough sea. He forgets it existed and moves on.

It doesn’t matter. 

He must be a good son; must get rid of and fight everything that stands in his way. If Jisung doesn’t follow the path his parents are working hard to pave for him, he will ruin his life. 

Not wanting them to say anything else, not wanting to hear anything that can change his mind and make him switch sides, Jisung nods obediently. He doesn’t dare to look up from his lap, but he has the feeling that his parents are exchanging smug glances.

Jisung should be content, too.

But regret coils heavy in his stomach—how can he be happy like this? And yet, he can’t withdraw, can’t just throw his future away. He can’t just let everyone down, running after something that will sooner or later leave him in ruins. 

Only after his parents allow him to go to his bedroom, Jisung locks the door and throws himself on his bed, sinking his face into the pillow. 

He doesn’t cry. The tears don’t run down his cheeks in waterfalls, don’t leave a salty aftertaste in his mouth. All he feels is disappointment. It’s what keeps him from getting his voice out.

Jisung has made a decision. He has no right to feel bad about it now, he has no right to cry over it. If that’s what he truly wants, there’s no reason to shed tears.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Minho should have expected Eunjun to show up again. He’s been quiet too long; he gave no sign of life, and since Minho slapped one of his friends in the face, his entire gang seemed to have vanished into thin air.

When he finally shows up, on a February night Minho is walking back home from Changbin’s place, of course Minho is surprised. He should have expected just that, but he’s let his guard down. 

He has no idea how they even know he’s on his way home, but they come out of nowhere, emerging from an alley fairly close to his house. That evening Minho doesn’t feel like fighting. If he started running, maybe he could reach the convenience store on the corner and call Changbin from there. But Minho doesn’t run away—definitely not from trash like Eunjun.

Minho clicks his tongue. “Are you so scared that I’ll beat your ass again that you had to bring your friends along?”

He likes mocking Eunjun—his entire always turns bright red, he clenches his fists and tries to pretend he’s not at all pissed off. He’s so easy to provoke—and the more upset he gets, the more distracted he becomes.

Eunjun rolls his eyes—theatrically, standing in the light of a street lamp so Minho can see exactly how much he doesn’t give a fuck. 

“Better tell me,” he begins, “are you, perhaps, coming back from your boyfriend’s? Hm… what was it again… Jisung?” Eunjun must see something on Minho’s face—something that breaks through the mask of indifference, because he smirks and adds, “Exactly, exactly.” 

Eunjun takes a slow step forward, confidently hoping that Minho will take one back. But Minho only raises his eyebrows, seemingly unfazed, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Is that all? I’m kinda in a hurry.” 

Eunjun covers what’s left of the distance between them and stands in front of him. Tilting his head to the side, before Minho can even react, swings his fist and punches Minho in the jaw. 

Minho staggers on his legs, feeling a piercing pang on the left side of his face. He huffs in annoyance and straightens to deliver a blow to Eunjun’s cheek. He waits for the rest of the gang to lunge at him, but when neither of them react—even though Minho can see them watching closely out of the corner of his eye—he kicks Eunjun right in the shin and watches his knees buckle.

“Haerim says Jisungie has a pretty sweet face,” Eunjun breathes out, twisting his lips in a hideous smirk. “Do you think I could steal him away from you? He must be so naive… How else could he even be into you? Come on, share your magic tricks with us, Minho.” 

Minho wants to burst out laughing. Eunjun is even more pathetic than he has always thought if he thinks Jisung was gullible. Jisung doesn’t give a single damn; Minho is quite sure that if he wanted to, he could kick Eunjun’s and his friends’ ass and spice it up with a snarky word.

But Eunjun has no right to say a word about Jisung, he has no right to even think about him. The fact that he dares to talk about him in such a disgusting way only to upset Minho pisses him off even more. 

That’s why Minho doesn’t even hesitate before landing a punch right in Eunjun’s face. He pushes him to the ground, straddling his stomach, and at that point Minho can’t care less about the four boys leaning against the wall, ready to pounce on him and send him to the hospital.

Eunjun has crossed a line and Minho is a big fan of boundaries. 

“I’ll stuff your ugly mouth with dirt if you dare to mutter even a word about him, got it?” Minho spits out, ignoring the way Eunjun is wriggling underneath him, trying to break free. “I think you got a little too excited and forgot who I am. One call and you’re out. Want me to spell it out?” 

Eunjun gasps. Minho gets up, keeping his foot on the other’s sternum. He lets Eunjun pull his hands from under his back and try to grab Minho’s leg in vain. His hands, scarred by concrete, must hurt too much for him to wrap his fingers around his calf. He breathlessly falls back onto the pavement.

“No, no,” Minho chuckles dryly. He glances at the guys whispering among themselves and, lifting his leg to let Eunjun catch his breath, he adds, “And this guy right here is your  _ leader _ ? You should find yourselves a better hobby than trailing behind such a slouch.” 

Maybe they aren’t that useless after all—with that comment Minho gets himself another shot straight to the ribs. Haerim, the guy who got punched in the face for his stupid remarks about Jisung the last time, must feel very humiliated to return to Minho with such force.

Minho spits, trying to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.

“Anyone else?” he snaps, spreading his hands to the sides.

Eunjun gets up and Minho thinks that he might want to hit him again. But he only whistles, calling his _ entourage _ and, without looking for any cars, starts walking through the middle of the street to the other side.

He was expecting something else. Broken bones and a bleeding face, maybe, but all he feels is the stinging pain in his jaw. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Minho winces at the sight of blood. He sighs, but is quite glad that it’s all over, at least for now.

At times, it’s a good thing to have an influential father, even though Minho causes problems because of him in the first place; it’s like his father is the golden ticket getting him in and out of trouble.

Minho takes the phone out of his pocket, immediately dialing Changbin’s number. When his friend doesn’t answer, he calls again, but this time there’s no answer either. Damn, Minho was at Changbin’s house not even an hour ago. What is he doing that he can’t answer his phone?

Minho doesn’t want to disturb Momo—she bragged about going to dinner with Sana’s parents early today, so he skips calling her. Chan—just like Changbin—is out of reach, and it is a strange phenomenon in itself, but Minho doesn’t have the strength or time to think about it any longer.

This whole encounter with Eunjun has elicited a strange thought in Minho, has drained him of his strength, and—although he is usually not very talkative or keen on venting—he wants to talk to someone.

He doesn’t feel exhausted enough, however, not to leave his friends annoyed voicemails on the way home, saying that they have phones so that people can actually reach them. There isn’t a hint of real anger in them, though, but Minho likes to be a little dramatic. 

The tormenting thought he pushes far, far into the depths of his mind—it is definitely not a good time to make hasty decisions.

Minho unlocks the front door, pushes it open and takes off his shoes in the hallway without bothering to arrange them neatly on the shelf. LED lights taped by the floor illuminate his way as he climbs the stairs. Instead of going to his room, he first heads for the bathroom.

Jisung wouldn’t like it if Minho didn’t take care of his wounds, even if it’s just a bleeding lip. He doesn’t want to bother him with only a scratch, even though Jisung told him it would be alright for him to come over if he’s hurt.

Minho thinks, though, that in such a state—mental state—it’s better not to come into his sight. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Changbin finds it a great idea to benefit from the sunny weather and pulls Minho to the stands of the school pitch. Minho only agrees because the canteen is bursting at the seams (which is an immediate downside) and Changbin buys him hot chocolate from the vending machine. He should have expected his friend wouldn’t even think about sitting outside in—still—cold weather if it weren’t for Hyunjin.

When Minho sees their entire group lounging on a blanket on the school soccer field as if it’s mid-summer, it crosses his mind to turn and walk back to school.

But Changbin must sense it—he grabs Minho’s hand, pulling him towards them, probably not realizing that in the midst of this small group, with his nose in the book, sits the person Minho is trying to get out of his head.

Minho hesitantly follows Changbin’s footsteps and sits down on an unoccupied part of the blanket. Jisung looks up from his book to offer them a slight smile, but then returns to reading as if Minho’s presence doesn’t make the slightest impression on him.

He heaves a sigh, scooting over to Felix upon noticing the boy’s playing Candy Crush. “Woah, two thousand seventy-fifth level? Boss.” 

Felix is cute. Out of them all, Minho can say it’s him he gets along best. If he can say he gets along with anyone at all. 

“Yeah, but this level is just mad annoying,” Felix huffs; a message that he has used all his moves appears on the screen. “Wanna try?” 

It’s not really something Minho has expected, but he nods, accepting the phone Felix’s handing him. It takes him a moment to remember how to play, but when he finally gets it, Minho is close to winning. Felix is disappointed that he doesn’t make it, but allows Minho to keep playing until all lives are over. Then, they both have to find something else to do. 

Changbin is lying with his head on Hyunjin’s lap and the three of them, along with Jeongin, are eating brownies from a plastic box. Jisung continues his reading, frowning at his book from time to time. Seungmin is playing with one of Jisung’s hands, drawing various shapes on it with his fingers. He has headphones on, but the music is too quiet for Minho to make out. 

If it weren’t for Changbin dragging him here, stupid thoughts wouldn’t be comingback to Minho with redoubled strength. He wouldn’t have the chance to shamelessly stare at Jisung, at his funny expressions that he’s unconsciously making during the more exciting passages of his reading. He wouldn’t have the chance to wonder if Jisung is comfortable lying on his stomach on the grassy ground. He wouldn’t have the chance to see him fumbling around to reach into the brownies box, puffing out his cheeks ridiculously when he fails. 

Their eyes meet when Jisung looks up from his book. 

If it weren’t for Changbin dragging him here, Minho wouldn’t get to look into Jisung’s sparkling eyes; his heart wouldn’t dangerously pick up; he wouldn’t realize that he likes him a lot. 

A stronger wind blows, and the pages of Jisung’s book begin rustling and turning over before he can react and mark the spot where he has just finished reading. Minho can’t help the laugh that spills out of his throat.

No one else notices it—only Jisung. He shakes his head in mock disapproval, and yet smiles to himself, probably thinking Minho won’t notice.

He’s so, so wrong. 

Minho takes a breath of fresh air; he lets the February wind blow through his hair and finally acknowledges that he is very much fond of Han Jisung. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Minho doesn’t like dragging things out. He doesn’t like wasting time. He doesn’t like hiding things, and when it’s necessary to express his opinion, he speaks openly about what he thinks. 

But confessing to someone about your feelings is something completely different. It’s much more serious; it entails consequences he doesn’t feel entirely ready to face. 

He has never had to do this—no one has ever charmed him enough for Minho to bother admitting any feelings at all. Jisung is the first one, and Minho also has to admit that, for the first time in a while, he has no idea what to do.

“Dude, I was positive you’re already together,” Changbin states when Minho gathers up the courage to say things that have been messing with his mind out loud. 

Minho looks at him like Changbin is an idiot. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean… you guys flirt, like, every two minutes and keep staring at each other,” he explains, taking a bite of pizza; Chan, sitting beside him, nods in agreement. “And you literally kissed at my party. Next to my bathroom. Next to me!” 

“That was…”

Minho still has no idea what it was. 

He takes a sip out of the bottle and lets out a sigh. His friends are just as useless when it comes to matters of the heart as he is. 

“Listen,” Chan begins and Minho looks up at him. “I can’t tell you it’s thousand percent sure ‘cause I have no idea what’s going on in his mind, but Jisung really seems to like you.”

Minho’s heartbeat picks up.

“No shit, ‘cause I feel like he’s planning how to murder me most of the time. It was funny at the beginning. He got so annoyed when I talked to him. But now…”

“Now you like him,” Changbin finishes. 

Minho wants to bang his head against the wall. He has never felt this pathetic before— _ infatuations  _ aren’t his thing, and he has never really cared about them. But then Han Jisung shows up out of nowhere and decides that it’s the greatest idea of all time to break into Minho’s head and arrange everything as he pleases.

“I wouldn’t want to mess something up by accident because you know that all I care about is for things to work out.” Chan sends him a smile but Minho doesn’t have the strength to return it. “But I know that bottling things up has never ended up well for you. If I can even advise you that, I’d say go for it. Tell him. Maybe... maybe not now. Think it through and see what’s changed. And then—if you’re sure that’s what you want—just tell him.”

Changbin nods, expressing his agreement. Minho twists his face in a grimace, not quite sure about this particular idea, but ultimately it seems the most sensible. 

Maybe it will all become clear over time. Maybe one day Minho will wake up and realize it was all a stupid figment. Maybe things will be different and Minho will only become stronger in his feelings; maybe he won’t be able to stand the pressure he put on himself and will run to find Jisung and tell him everything.

Minho has no idea what will happen but if he knew, maybe he would think it through more carefully. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

“Punch me in the face.”

Changbin blinks, wondering if it’s a dream, but Minho looks like he’s being serious. 

They went to the store because Minho needed company and the snack cupboard was empty (definitely not because Kyungmi, after returning from Milan, said that he was entitled to all the sweets in the world after fourteen hours on the plane), so he had nothing to convince Changbin to abandon plans with his boyfriend.

Minho just got back from the store, tossed the bag on the backseat and made his strange request, immediately slamming the door afterwards without getting into the car or elaborating.

Changbin sits there for a long moment with raised eyebrows, not quite sure what he should do. Eventually, he gets out of the car and circles it to come face to face with Minho.

“What the fuck?”

“Listen,” Minho begins, cracking his knuckles, “It’s just so fucking annoying that I can’t stop thinking about him. Punch me so I can have an excuse to go there and talk to him.” 

Changbin waits for Minho to tell him it’s a joke but it doesn’t happen. 

“Firstly, I don’t think you need an excuse to visit someone. Secondly, are you seriously going to tell him?” 

Minho nods. “I’ve been holding it in for an eternity.” 

“For a week,” Changbin corrects; Minho only rolls his eyes, mumbling under his breath that it does seem like an eternity.

“Punch me. It’s enough if you just give me a split lip.” 

Changbin wiggles his eyebrows like a moron. “What will you kiss them with then?” 

Minho freezes. He hasn’t thought that far into the future. The sudden urge to tell Jisung came to him as he was choosing the flavor of chips—he hasn’t even considered how Jisung might react. Now, though, even with his heart hammering against his ribcage, Minho isn’t going to back away. He isn’t a coward.

“And if I knock out your teeth by accident…”

“Punch me.” 

So Changbin does. 

They promised not to lay a hand on each other, but Changbin isn’t going to refuse him, no matter how mad Minho’s idea seems to him. It’s weird to hit his best friend, even if he isn’t using a small fraction of that force that he would use on someone else.

“You alright?” he asks when they’re done. 

Minho doesn’t look too bad—all he needs is a bruise and a slit skin to be content. He nods at Changbin’s question, then towards the car without ever touching the injuries on his face. 

“Can you drive me?” 

Changbin rolls his eyes but heads towards his car. “Do I have a choice? You always drag me into your shit no matter what I say.” 

“Thanks to this shit you can now go and see your boyfriend,” Minho tells him, climbing into the passenger’s seat. His words seem to do the deal. “You’re welcome.”

He doesn’t have to give Changbin any directions—hardly anyone from their milieu knows where the house of one of the largest investors is, especially since many banquets are held there.

“Stop here,” Minho instructs him when they reach Jisung’s neighbourhood. He doesn’t want to be driven up to the gate. 

Changbin sighs but pulls over. Before Minho gets out, he grabs his arm and, with an encouraging smile, says, “Good luck. You can do it.” 

Of course Minho can do it. Stranger things has he done. 

He waits a moment for Changbin to drive away, then starts walking towards the gate and takes his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and writes a message to Jisung that he needs his help.

**JISUNG:** what happened?? do you want me to pick you up?

**MINHO:** open the door

Minho doesn’t know if Jisung’s worried face—being the first thing he sees as soon as the front door opens—is a good sign, but he’s been pessimistic for too long. Minho has to be positive about this.

“What have you done again…” Jisung clicks his tongue, not wasting any time to grab Minho’s hand and lead him through the now familiar hallway. 

When they get to the kitchen, Minho jumps on the barstool by the island and waits for Jisung to come back with the first aid kit. Blood rushes and rings in his ears, but Minho feels strangely calm. The only thing that bothers him at a moment that seems so perfect is the throbbing cheek.

Jisung returns quickly. He puts down the box onto the counter and stands between Minho’s legs. He immediately gets to work—he wipes the blood off Minho’s lip and the rest of his face with focus, then turns around and walks over to the refrigerator to crouch down. He takes a packet of frozen vegetables out of it and returns to Minho, gently pressing it to his cheek.

“Does it hurt?” 

Minho could say that it doesn’t hurt, not even a tiny bit, but when he sees Jisung’s gentle voice, he feels his heart jumping up to his throat. He breathes out through his nose and, looking up to meet Jisung’s eyes, he mumbles, “I like you.” 

Jisung freezes. The packet slips out of his hand and falls to the floor with a thump, but he doesn’t move to pick it up. His mouth opens as if he wants to say something but then he shuts it again. 

“No, no, you don’t,” he stumbles eventually, when Minho starts to think he isn’t going to get an answer.

Minho frowns. 

He’s pretty sure that this is what it is—that what he’s saying is true. How can Jisung know? Minho himself can’t really decipher what’s going on in his mind and his heart most of the time. It would be weird if Jisung could. 

“I like you,” he repeats. 

Jisung takes a step back. He shakes his head with an expression Minho can’t read. “You don’t—You’re just—”

“ _ I’m just  _ what?” 

“I’m not yours. I’m not a toy you can run after, you can play with for a while just to throw it away and never look at it again. You’re—you are greedy,” Jisung rambles on and on. 

Minho blinks. He jumps off the stool to his feet, though he feels like he is about to fall over. Jisung stares at him, looking absent, as if he’s worried or scared. Minho doesn’t know what to do. He has no idea if he should take Jisung’s ramblings seriously.

There are a lot of things to say about Minho, really, but he doesn’t  _ play _ with people.

“Fucking hell.” Jisung hides his face in his hands. “They were right. Like always, they were right.” 

“Who was right?” 

It isn’t just insecurity growing in Minho—confusion and irritation with it. He doesn’t understand what Jisung means, but his words are enough to ignite a fire of anger. Perhaps he would have expected to hear something like this at the beginning of their weird relationship, but now?

Jisung finally lets his gaze meet Minho’s again. And—no matter how difficult it is to read him now—Minho spots the same insecurity he feels in himself. 

“My parents… I can’t do this. I can’t.” 

Minho has the impression that Jisung is about to start crying and it worries him, makes his gut twist. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Minho just wanted to tell Jisung he liked him. If Jisung doesn’t feel the same, it certainly isn’t the end of the world—Minho can handle it. But Jisung’s reaction is so strange that Minho has actually no idea what it means.

“What did they tell you?” 

Jisung shakes his head. “Only what I should’ve seen long ago. That you want to take advantage of me. I don’t—I don’t know why you’re doing this but leave me alone.” 

A blush of humiliation creeps up to Minho’s cheeks. Blood buzzes in his ears and he feels like he’s counting down to an explosion. He takes a deep breath to calm down and, with what’s left of his strength, he puts on a neutral mask. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Minho’s confession is the last thing Jisung has ever expected. 

Yes, his parents have warned him, but it doesn’t mean that Jisung can imagine someone like Lee Minho taking interest in  _ him _ . 

He swallows, trying to get rid of the bitterness on his tongue, but neither that nor the lump in his throat disappear. Jisung feels his legs buckling under him. Minho keeps staring, but other than that, Jisung can’t read anything from his face.

If it is a lie, if Minho isn’t actually trying to take advantage of him, he would instantly deny what Jisung has just said. He would say something to change his mind. After all, Jisung would believe him—he trusts Minho more than he trusts his parents, really. Jisung thought he knew him. But Minho isn’t doing anything to convince him. 

“What do you want, Jisung?” he asks instead. “Forget what they said. What do you truly want?” 

_ You _ slips onto his tongue so easily, threatening to spill through his gritted teeth—out into the world where he can’t take anything back. 

Jisung knows this confession will only serve as proof that he’s let himself be fooled, so he stifles it; and yet, even with the pretend confidence, he can’t look Minho in the eye. 

His gaze sweeps across the wall behind him, over his shoulder, over his face. Everywhere as long as their eyes don’t meet.

Minho waits a long moment, watching, but when Jisung doesn’t answer, his mask of apathy cracks, clearly enough for Jisung to see the quiet disappointment beneath. 

“Fine,” he grumbles bitterly before—not even looking back—marches out of the kitchen. 

Jisung hears the front door slam shut and falls to the floor. Leaning his back against the wall, he hides his face in his hands, but doesn’t allow himself to cry. He takes deep breaths one by one, but the weight in his chest doesn’t go away.

It’s for the better. Jisung just has to accept it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated ♡
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/hanllno)   
>  [my writing twitter](https://twitter.com/10h25min)   
>  [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lovinagain)

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated ♡
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/hanllno)  
> [my writing twitter](https://twitter.com/10h25min)  
> [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lovinagain)


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